Doom Driven
by Child of Sithis
Summary: Sithis is overdue a soul: Sithia the Dragonborn's. Nirn is doomed if Serana can't keep her alive. Eternal darkness will fall. Miraak will return to enslave the living and undead... provided Alduin doesn't eat the world first. Eventual F!DB/Serana.
1. Prologue: False Hope

**Prologue: False Hope**

Lord Harkon strode into his daughter's chambers. Immediate disappointment in his quest for solitude awaited in the form of the lowliest member of his court, sweeping the floor.

"My lord!" The runt dropped his broomstick. "I'm so sorry, I should have known you were coming, I only wish I had been able to do—"

"Ronthil…"

"Yes, my lord." The runt scurried away, leaving his broomstick where it had fallen. Judging by the way his footsteps faltered on the steps down into the hall, Ronthil realised his mistake but did not dare return. Harkon gathered his magic in the palm of his hand and reached for the broom. It leapt into his hand, and he hurled it after the runt.

A yelp was followed by several thuds and the clattering of wood on stone. "Thank you, my lord!" Ronthil croaked, his voice coming from the bottom of the stairs. Only the runt would thank him for inflicting pain.

Another burst of Telekinesis slammed the door shut when Ronthil failed to close it when he crawled out. One day, Harkon promised himself, he would find out which of his court had gifted the runt with the ancient blood, and they would pay dearly for it.

Still, for all of the runt's failings, he was at least more useful than Vingalmo and Orthjolf had been of late. Perhaps he should put them on cleaning duty for a while, but they could not be trusted to keep their hands to themselves. No, Ronthil was the only one of his court who could perform that service for him.

Serana's chamber was out of bounds for anyone else in his court. The last fool to intrude ended up being eaten undead by CuSith and Gamr. Since then, no one else dared enter except for the runt, and he knew better than to continue with his cleaning duties when Harkon arrived.

He idly wondered what his court thought of his yearly disappearances. Those old enough to remember would know that it coincided with the day Valerica betrayed him. Waiting until he slept, then stealing away with his Scrolls and Serana. Did they think his vigil for his lost daughter a weakness? Or did they respect him for it? He cared not, so long as they did not say anything to his face, but only a fool would dare.

Harkon slowly walked over to the bed. In her own way, Serana was as strange a vampire as Ronthil. Persisting with a mortal bed… it was unheard of, but unfortunately a necessity for a vampire with a fear of tightly enclosed spaces, including and especially coffins.

His goal was not the bed itself but the painting mounted on the wooden headboard. The family portrait, painted long before his wife's betrayal. He glanced at the torn canvas where Valerica's head had once been depicted, ripped out so long ago. His teeth clenched, fangs trembling in their sheaths, as he fought back the consuming rage that gripped him whenever he saw a reminder of her.

Perhaps he should have let himself destroy this painting like all the others of Valerica, but it was the only surviving portrait of himself with Serana painted from undeath and not memory. Valerica had possessed a similar painting, but it had been obliterated in his fury after discovering her theft. He had come perilously close to doing the same to this painting. Serana had stopped him. Her painted expression somehow reflected the pain in his own, both then and now.

He had rarely seen her smile; and all too rarely had the opportunity to see her much at all, even after the ritual granting the gift of eternal life in undeath. Valerica had hoarded her all to herself, keeping their daughter away from him whenever she could even before she finally took her from him completely. But not forever, not if it was within his power to find her.

He reached out to his oil-and-canvas daughter, to trace her features as he had countless times over the centuries. The comfort of the bittersweet ritual was worth the occasional work of retouching the painting, as his fingers gradually wore through the pigment with every longing touch.

Like the family portrait displayed to his court, Serana stood beside him. Unlike that painting, here she stood on his left, between his throne and her mother's. The composition of the publicly displayed portrait was far superior, with the only sign of Valerica there in the features their daughter had inherited. Her nose, her lips, even her jawline. If only she had been a son, then she might have favoured him instead.

But her resemblance was not to the vampire who betrayed him, but to the mortal who he fell in love with, the mortal wife who gave him his only child. The mortal who aged with him. The mortal whose life Lord Molag Bal had claimed when bestowing his blessing upon them. Long before she betrayed him it became clear that his beloved wife had died during that ritual, leaving a pale shadow in her place. Serana was the only thing he had left of her.

His beloved daughter. A daughter he would soon reclaim, if Lokil's boasts were to be believed.

_'Soon, my darling. Soon. Return to your rightful place at my side. I will convince you of the rightness of my cause, purging your mother's poison. We will bring about the end of the Tyranny of the Sun together.'_ Harkon caressed her painted cheek. "Come to me, my daughter," he whispered, repeating the pleading command for the umpteenth time.

"My lord!" Vingalmo's voice was muffled by the door and distant, echoing as if from across the great hall.

Harkon closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. Could he not have one moment's peace? Whatever his uppity ex-Thalmor advisor wanted, it had better—

"Everyone! Serana has returned!"

His eyes flew open and he inhaled sharply.

Could it be true? Vingalmo had never met Serana, how could he be certain enough of this to risk announcing it? But of course… every single member of his court and their underlings knew her face, thanks to the portrait behind his throne.

A smile spread across Harkon's stern face. His first true smile since Serana had been taken from him. The day long hoped for had finally come. The accursed sun's days were numbered. Eternal night would fall. Soon.

He swept out of Serana's chambers, trying not to move too fast. The lord of the castle was dignified. Not one of his court would run, except maybe the runt.

Now, to greet his prodigal daughter. He regretted the cold formality required in front of his court, but he would make up for it later in private. She would surely understand.

* * *

AN: Please review! Tell me what you like, what you don't like, what you think of Harkon, what you think of his thoughts on his wife and daughter… whatever you have to say, I want to hear it.

If you spot any errors, please let me know so I can fix it. I can't catch all of them myself no matter how hard I try.

Vingalmo was once a Thalmor? Apparently so, according to the Prima Official Game Guide. And turned by Harkon some hundred years ago, which must make him all the more annoying to Orthjolf, as it sounds like he was around rather longer than the elf and not turned by Harkon but by an unnamed member of the court.

Coming up next: first meetings in Dimhollow Crypt and the journey home. There will be more from Harkon's POV, and maybe some other villains as they come into the story, but this is largely Serana's tale.


	2. Chapter 1: Rude Awakening

**Chapter 1: Rude Awakening**

Her mother's spell released Serana the moment dank air flooded her prison. Closed for so long, it took her eyelids a few heartbeats to remember how to open. Her hands and knees throbbed from their jarring impact with hard stone, and her head—

_'By… the… blood…'_

Serana cradled her aching head in one hand, the other pushing herself up from the floor. Her muscles cried out with every move she made. Why did everything hurt? Her foggy mind abruptly grasped the fact that the heartbeat in her ears was not her own. Too rapid, too strong… a mortal. So close!

Too close. A whisper cut through the still air and something sharp pressed against her throat. A trickle of blood ran down into the cold, constant sting of silver around her neck.

Serana's eyes finally snapped open, blearily focusing up the blade of a sword to the mortal holding it. A woman, clad from head to toe in form-fitting black leather armour. A masked cowl covered her head, leaving only her eyes exposed, as cold and hard as the steel of her sword.

The mortal's sword arm tensed. About to thrust?

_'I don't think so.'_ Serana lowered the hand from her forehead to hold the blade between finger and thumb, wrenching it away and out of the mortal's grip, clattering across the stone floor.

"Void take it!" The mortal jumped back out of reach – almost tripping over the step behind her – and gestured upwards, purple light flickering in her palm. Her other hand drew a dagger from a sheath on her hip. Ebony, by the look of the pitch black blade. A Daedric sword flared into being in her right hand.

Serana slowly held up her hands, spread wide. Easy enough to assume a casting pose, but relatively non-threatening, and a universal gesture of submission.

"I don't want to fight you," she rasped. "But I will—" She coughed. "—defend myself."

The mortal groaned, her voice slightly muffled by the mask, "I'm going to regret this." She hesitated a heartbeat longer and banished the sword back into Oblivion. Another heartbeat, and she sheathed her dagger. She set a knapsack down at her feet, pulled out a bottle and tossed it to Serana, who almost fumbled the catch.

"Only water, I'm afraid I don't carry bottled blood around."

Of course that was when her head cleared enough to register the mortal's mouthwatering scent, all the stronger for the blood on her right gauntlet. Clearly a victim of her mother's trap for idiots too curious for their own good. Her own hand throbbed in sympathy… and with a phantom ache of pained remembrance.

"That's not on offer," the mortal snapped, fingering her dagger.

Serana pointedly uncorked the bottle and gulped down the water. "I wasn't going to ask," she said, voice returned to normal. Much as she wanted to sample this delicious morsel, it wouldn't exactly be the best reward for freeing her. She threw the bottle back to the mortal, who replaced it in her pack.

"Who sent you?" Serana attempted to stand. Her muscles screamed at her again, and she fell back onto her knees, sending another jolt of pain through them. Damn it, up until now she'd thought vampires couldn't get stiff.

"That's none of your concern."

"I rather think it is, actually, as it has everything to do with what you intend to do with me." Hopefully not _to_ her, like attack her with that dagger she was still fingering. She'd probably be no threat – what mortal was to a Daughter of Coldharbour? – but she'd clearly killed vampires before. She could smell the rich tang of their thinner blood, both in the air and as traces on the mortal's sword and dagger. Including one turned by her father… perhaps this mortal would be a challenge after all. Especially for a vampire temporarily crippled by aching muscles.

Better distract the mortal before she did decide to do something to her… "So, who sent you? Who told you where to find me?"

The mortal scoffed, "No one. I mean, a group of vampire hunters sent me here, but nobody told me there was a vampire locked away in here. I knew these vampires were looking for something, but you? You're a surprise. A relatively pleasant one, considering you haven't tried to drain me dry yet."

Her muscles twinged as she shifted, but they were quickly getting used to the idea of moving around rather than standing still for however long it had been. "You went through the ritual to free me just for the fun of it?"

"Up until now I've never been able to resist mysterious buttons."

Serana finally managed to stand up, her legs only grumbling a bit. She noted that the mortal was about half a head shorter. Almost certainly not a Nord, then, which would explain her unfamiliar harsh and clipped accent.

"Where are you from?"

"Why do you want to know? Collecting different races as a vampire gourmet, are we?"

"Actually I'm trying to place your accent."

The mortal relaxed slightly, although she was still strung tighter than a bow. "Cheydinhal. In Cyrodiil."

"And what are you?"

"Ah, so you _are_ collecting races, then?"

"Look, if I wanted to snack on you I already would have." Hopefully the lie was not as obvious as it felt. "Do I have to guess?"

"Guess away." Judging by the way the mortal's eyes sparkled and creased at the corners, she was smiling.

Serana cheated and inhaled, too slowly for the mortal to notice. Except it didn't help. The mortal didn't smell like anyone she'd met before. Not a Nord, or a Cyrodiilic, or a Manmer. Or whatever they called themselves now. Breton, that was it. She really would have to guess.

"Cyrodiilic?"

"Imperial, yes."

Serana blinked. "There's an empire based in Cyrodiil?" How long had she been gone? What had happened? Had the situation really still not been resolved?

_'Where are you, Mother?'_

"What are you?" A different accent slipped through in the mortal's shock, lilting and decidedly more pleasant, if accompanying plain rudeness.

"Charming," Serana muttered. "You had me at swordpoint, you must know perfectly well what I am. Or do you greet everyone you meet that way?"

"You're a vampire, but like no vampire I've killed. You've been in there for centuries if not millennia, yet you're not blood-starved, let alone feral. You could pass for human if I hadn't seen you fall out of a glorified coffin."

Serana flinched. While she mercifully couldn't remember her time in there thanks to her mother spelling her asleep, the mere idea of being trapped like that, surrounded by impregnable stone on all sides pressing in on her she couldn't move think breathe escape—

"…Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," Serana croaked, and took a shuddering breath. She edged away from the monolith, all too aware of the gaping maw ready to swallow her whole again. She'd be a lot happier if she could get outside. Even bright stinging sunlight beating down on her would be better than this.

"You're not about to go feral on me, are you? That you're different wasn't a complaint. I'd be perfectly happy if you didn't try to eat me."

"It's not that. Don't worry, I don't go feral." Daughters of Coldharbour couldn't. Vampires only went feral if they got too thirsty, and a pure-blooded vampire couldn't get any thirstier. That was her blessing and her curse: constant burning hunger for blood. Her eyes were drawn again to the mortal's hand, to the drying blood there.

_"What are you?"_ That was an exasperated mortal if she'd ever heard one. She could almost feel her blood boiling.

Serana laughed. "I'm not your average vampire. And you're not the average Cheydinhal resident, are you?"

The mortal snorted. "Far from it." That harsh accent had returned, sadly.

"Why don't you use the other accent?"

"What?" She seemed genuinely baffled. How strange…

"The one you were just using." Serana attempted to mimic that lilting cadence.

"…That was the worst impression of a Khajiit I've ever heard."

"You talk like a Cat when you don't talk like a grumpy human. Where did you pick that up from to slip into it without even knowing it?"

"I do? Well, I was raised by a Khajiit, and didn't spend much time with anyone else for about fifteen years. That might explain it."

"But you don't use their quirks. You know, 'this one' and 'Khajiit' this and that. You don't move like one either."

"Rasha didn't use them either. Not with me, anyway. And don't be daft, of course I don't move like a Khajiit. I don't exactly have the body for it." Her eyes narrowed. "It's my turn to ask the questions. Who are you, and why were you sealed away with what can only be an Elder Scroll?"

Serana suddenly registered the warm weight and ethereal presence on her back. Amazing what you got used to after snuggling with something for centuries.

"Do you talk better at swordpoint?" That purple glow appeared in her fist again.

"There's no need for that," Serana huffed. "My name is Serana, and… I'm sorry, but I can't tell you. I need to know where things stand. If you get me home, I'll share what I can, but not until then."

"I'm supposed to deliver an ancient and powerful vampire to her home, doubtless a cave full of equally ancient and powerful vampires?"

"We're not all cave dwellers, you know. I for one have spent more than my share of time in caves already."

"You spent most of it inside a tomb. Where vampires are right at—"

The rest of the mortal's words faded into hissing and a black void threatened the corners of Serana's sight. She staggered away from the stone monstrosity behind her until she was pressed against something reassuringly solid that didn't threaten to… She shuddered.

The comforting temptation of the distinctive _lub dub_ of a living heart approached, and the mortal hesitantly laid a hand on her shoulder. "Are you all right? Wait. You're…" Her grey eyes widened. "Really? A claustrophobic vampire. Wow. That must have been like suffering in the worst plane of Oblivion for you." She awkwardly patted her shoulder. "I'm sorry. Whoever locked you away must've hated you."

_'No, she loves me! Doesn't she? Is _that_ why Mother began to push me away? I reminded her too much of Father? No. I won't believe it. She wouldn't have protected me from my _stupid_ fear if she hated me.'_

"No, it was to protect me. Thanks, though. Not many vampire hunters would be concerned for a vampire."

"I really shouldn't be. But I've never had much in the way of common sense." The mortal stepped back and retreated to where her sword had landed. She picked it up and sheathed it on her right hip. Left handed, then? Come to think of it, it was the one she'd pulled it from. It must've been stinging too much for the mortal to focus her magic in it.

Thinking of magic… "Why bother with that when you can conjure up a better one?"

"Because in my experience a Bound Sword buggers off back to Oblivion at the worst possible moment. That and there's times when I need a weapon that actually weighs something."

That just sounded inconvenient for someone with a mortal's pathetic strength. What could she possibly mean by that?

"Back to the matter of your request, it's not going to happen. Especially not with an Elder Scroll at stake. From what I hear, mess with one of those and at best you'll break yourself, at worst you'll break the world. I can't imagine a vampire is up to anything good with that thing. I should kill you and take that Scroll. It's what any sensible vampire hunter would do." The mortal toyed with the hilt of her sword.

Serana felt ice coalesce in her left hand and drew her dagger in her right. "I'd like to see you try!" _'Especially if I resort to that monstrous form…'_

"Oh, please. Powerful vampire or not, you're no match for me."

Serana bared her teeth, fangs descending. "We'll see about that if you don't listen to me first! Kill me and you've killed one vampire. But—"

"Relax, if I was going to kill you I already would have. You're lucky I'm only a part-time vampire hunter and a pretty stupid one at that."

"Good. I'm glad to hear it." Serana let the spell fade away and sheathed her dagger. Her fangs retracted.

The mortal leaned towards her, head cocked to the side. "Can all vampires do that? The ones I've encountered always flashed their fangs when they talk. They usually lisp too. You don't, except with your fangs out just now."

"As I said, I'm not your average vampire. Anyway, if you're not going to kill me – or at least _try_ to – what are you going to do with me?"

The mortal stared blankly at her for a long moment, her heartbeats filling the silence. "Good question. I have no idea. How about we get out of this cave-come-vampire crypt-come-Nordic ruin?"

"If I swear to you that the Scroll isn't going to be misused, will you be my guide? I really want to get back home. Please?"

The mortal dropped her head into her hand, covering what little showed of her face. "You'll forgive me if I don't trust a vampire or her word, no matter how friendly she seems."

"Look, if the vampires you've killed in here were looking for me, bigger things are going on. I won't let the Scroll be misused, but they want to. Help me get home, and I'll know what I need to do. Besides, depending who's home it'll be safe there."

"Why wouldn't it be safe there? If there's the slightest possibility that it won't be, why in the name of Sithis would I take you and your Scroll there?" That was exasperated mortal again. It was amusing, really.

Serana abruptly registered what her exasperated mortal had said and raised an eyebrow. Surely it wasn't normal for mortals to swear by the Void, or by the Dread Father? But then it had admittedly been a long time since she'd fraternised with mortals. Maybe they all worshipped Sithis these days. Whatever these days were.

"Because you're dying to know what's going on with me and my Scroll."

The mortal snarled, "Fucking vampire! You're going to be one of those people who are infuriatingly right all the time, aren't you? Fine. I'll guide you home. Don't make me regret it."

"You'd be wrong, mortal." She'd have seen her parental estrangement coming if she was always right… "Come to think of it, what's your name?"

"I'm your guide, not your new best friend. You don't need to know it."

"I've got to call you something!"

"Call me whatever you want, I don't care."

"Oh? All right, then. Which do you prefer: Mortal or Morsel?"

The mortal leaned away from her, eyeing her warily. "Eating your guide won't help you get home, you know."

Serana smiled, enjoying the way the mortal's heart skipped a beat when her fangs protruded. She sheathed them with the next heartbeat. "Don't worry, I don't really think of you that way. Or I don't want to, at least. I'd rather call you by your name. _Who_ you are, not _what_ you are. Is that all right?"

"I… Well, if you put it that way…" The mortal's voice sounded shaken, for some strange reason, although she tried to hide it behind indifference. Failing miserably, at least to Serana's vampiric senses. "It's Sithia."

"Pleased to meet you," Serana said. Finally she had a name! No more having to think of her saviour from the unthinkable as 'the mortal'. Now if only she could have a face to go with her name… And such an unusual name, unless it meant the cult of Sithis really was a thing now. "Is that a common name these days? To be named in honour of the Dread Father?"

"No, it's not. I know what it sounds like, and it's exactly that. My mother was part of a… questionable cult. I was born into it. Anyway, now you know, let's get out of here. Do you have any idea where to go?"

"I… No." Serana looked around the cavern helplessly. The only familiar things were the concentric ring of steps down to the – the monolith – surrounded by braziers flickering with cold purple flames. Nothing else. She didn't even know which way her mother had brought her in, and her scent was long gone. "Someone really got carried away with building arches since I was locked away. This place looks completely different."

"Is that why you need a guide? You think things out there have changed just as much?"

"Even if they haven't, I don't know the way home."

"What did you do, blunder all of your way here with your eyes closed?"

A suitable retort died on Serana's lips, her head snapping towards a strange sound.

_Crunch._

"Did you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

There it was again, louder this time. _Crack._

Then Serana saw them. The statues lurking in the shadows across the bridge behind Sithia, where mortal eyes couldn't see them. Gargoyles.

_'Damn it, Mother! Just because I remember how to fight doesn't mean I want to with your own creations!'_

Two of them. Their façade as statues shattered completely as Sithia spun and took a step towards them.

She drew her sword and almost dropped it when one of the gargoyles charged into sight. "What in Oblivion?"

Serana pelted it with shards of ice, vaguely registering the chill from the ice in her palms. It staggered to a halt, just in time for Sithia to lunge at it. Her blade pierced its eye socket, and it collapsed, tearing the sword from her hand in the process.

The second gargoyle roared and rushed towards them, wings spread, claws outstretched. Sithia cursed and flung herself back, the fell glow of conjuration forming in her hand.

Serana already had a handful from that same school of magic. She clenched her fist, the purple light flicking to the dead gargoyle and sinking into its eye sockets. She smiled as the glow crisscrossed that stony skin.

_'Done and done.'_

The undead gargoyle reared up into the path of the second, knocking it down into the moat surrounding the artificial island they stood on. It sank into the dark depths like the stone it was made from.

Startled, the magic died in Sithia's hand. She approached the dead gargoyle. It looked placidly back at her.

"Didn't I just kill you?" Sithia reached up and tugged her sword out of its head. She looked back over her shoulder at Serana. "You could have warned me! I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that a vampire dabbles in necromancy."

"Dabbles?" Serana huffed. "I'm capable of far more than…" She stumbled, her vision blurring for a moment. Her gargoyle collapsed into a pile of rubble, as her hold faltered long enough for the unruly Daedra animating it to slip back into Coldharbour.

Sithia caught her arm. "What's wrong?"

Serana blinked at her, trying to force tired eyes to stay open. "Need to feed."

"I guess it _has_ been a long time… Can vampires die of thirst?"

"No. We shut down, sleep. I do, anyway."

"Except when someone living gets close enough for you to pounce, eh? Haven't you slept enough already?" Sithia steered her over to perch on something. One of the braziers, judging by the gentle tickle of the cold fire. "Well, I'm not about to feed myself to you. Will a stamina potion work?"

"No. Not on undead. Same with healing. Check the dead vampires for potions – a blood potion." Serana's arm flopped in the direction of her dead kin.

"So you really do have bottled blood… But I'm afraid you're out of luck. They don't have any potions, I already took anything of value from them. Can you eat the dead? Vampires, their human thrall?"

Serana whimpered at the thought. No matter how thirsty she was, it _had_ to be fresh blood. A potion of blood was different, kept fresh and warm through enchantment.

She looked pleadingly up at Sithia. "Can I feed from you?"

"No!" she snapped, and heaved a sigh when Serana flinched. "I suppose I should be grateful you asked and didn't try to take."

Serana closed her eyes and groaned. "The thrall, if I must. Dead taste so _stale."_

Sithia's heartbeat moved away, and returned with the sound of something – someone – dragged across the floor. And dropped at her feet.

Serana slid off the brazier and straddled the thrall's body. It was a struggle to get her fangs to budge, and even more so to bite into that cold neck. Cooling, thick, clotting blood. No flow. No heat. No life. No satisfaction. She grimaced and forced herself to swallow.

Ugh, he'd already been fed from recently too. Clearly his owners hadn't bothered with blood potions when they had a willing – if enslaved – mortal to feed from. The only thing that could be worse was drinking from one of her dead thinner blooded kin.

She tried to think of something other than the revolting bitter taste of dead pain and fear. Unfortunately dwelling on Sithia's scent only made it worse. The thought of finding out if she tasted as good as she smelled, feeling the beat of her heart in the most intimate way possible for a vampire… She was standing so close, too. It would be so easy!

But no, eating her guide home would be frowned upon.

She gulped down as much foul blood as she could make herself, then pulled away, shuddering. "_Ugh._ That was my worst meal ever." Not remotely satiating either this time, no precious fleeting relief from her burning thirst.

Judging by the glint in Sithia's eyes, she was amused. Damn mortal. Not letting her feed on her, and smelling so tasty. It just wasn't fair.

"It seems to have done you some good. Presuming your eyes are supposed to glow like the embers of a fire, anyway."

"Yes, they are. Can we please get out of here? I could quite happily never sleep again, but I'll need to feed again sooner or later. Especially if we need to fight past anything else. Why don't we go back the way you came?"

"Because I don't want to go all the way back when there might be a shortcut up there—" Sithia pointed in the direction the gargoyles had come from. "—through this Nordic ruin you vampires built your crypt in. There's been one to the entrance or a back door in the other ruins I've had to explore. I'd be amazed if this particular one doesn't run right through the mountain. Certainly feels like it's gone on long enough."

"Well, all right. But are you sure you want to go where more gargoyles might be lurking?"

Sithia's responded by walking towards what had been a gargoyle. "What is wrong with you vampires? Ugly statues coming to life, creepy undead dogs with a freezing bite… It's no wonder people don't like you much, you know," she grumbled, kicking at the rubble as she walked over it.

"It's not really any different to having spellcaster traps and guard dogs. Gargoyles are magical constructs, my mother will have created those ones." Serana stepped over the remains of her dead gargoyle.

Sithia stopped and looked back at her, her gaze for once softened. In fact it looked an awful lot like sympathy. Similarly, her voice was not quite as harsh. "Is she the one who locked you away? She really must hate you to have her pet rocks try to kill you after shutting you away with that fear of yours."

"It's not like that." _'I hope.'_ "They can't be controlled. They're animated by particularly unruly Daedra. I told you, she did it to protect me."

"Your mother entombed you for centuries. To protect you. That reminds me of a story I read once. Except it was a tower, the girl was blonde and had far longer hair. But it had the same 'mother knows best' theme. What was she protecting you and that Scroll from? Those other vampires?"

"Get me home and I'll tell you what I know."

Sithia shrugged. "Worth a try. By the way…"

"What now?"

"If you were trying for stylish war paint, dirt isn't the best medium." Sithia touched her cowl over her forehead.

Serana looked down at her hands. Sure enough, there were traces of grime from catching herself on the dusty floor of the cavern. She groaned. Really not the first impression she wanted to make. She coated her hands with a layer of ice, let it melt and take away the dirt in the process, and repeated it with a hand laid on her forehead.

"Huh. First time I've seen destruction magic used for cleaning."

"Just because it's called 'destruction' doesn't mean that's the only use for it."

As Sithia set off again, Serana realised that she couldn't hear her footsteps. Those boots had to be enchanted, Sithia didn't have the magicka reserves to cast Muffle all the time. Like called to like – she could feel the deep well of magicka in the mortal, but it was a drop in the ocean compared to her own. Although… there was something strange about Sithia's power. Something almost wild about it. Something inhuman. But not Daedric – she would know. Like called to like with that as well.

After they passed under an ancient broad stone archway with a crudely carved head, Serana glanced back. The route they'd just taken looked familiar. Retracing her own steps? She couldn't be sure. At the time she'd been hurried through the roughly hewn stone passageways as fast as two vampires could walk.

The rest of their trek through the dimly lit and dusty corridors into a cavernous chamber was uneventful. Apart from the draugr and skeletons, but they weren't much of a threat to a vampire, or to a vampire hunter, judging by the ease with which Sithia was cutting through them. Just as slow and gullible as they'd always been.

"What's happened since this empire of yours was founded?"

"Oh, the usual." Sithia ducked a draugr's powerful-but-slow blow, and sliced through the exposed tendons in its arms. The draugr dropped the axe, the cold blue glow in its eye sockets flickering in confusion. A shard of ice courtesy of Serana put it out of its misery.

"Founding emperor died, ascended to godhood. His heirs eventually descended into petty squabbles over the succession, which wreaked havoc over the entire empire. Things settled down in time for the last Septim emperor and his legitimate heirs to be assassinated about two hundred years ago, leaving his bastard son to save the world from a Daedric invasion, dying in the act."

"…What?" Serana almost missed the skeleton creaking its way towards her. Her Ice Spike struck it with a glancing blow, but even that was enough to knock its skull off. "Godhood?" She wondered about the Daedric invasion too, but those weren't unheard of. A man becoming a god, though?

"The Ninth Divine, Talos. Tiber Septim as a man. He was Dragonborn, as were the rest of his dynasty."

"The elves must love that, a god younger than some of them are." Younger than she was too. It was a strange feeling to be older than a god. Not that she'd believe this Talos really was a god until she saw one of his shrines bestow a blessing, and that would have to be from a distance.

"Oh, yes. Especially the Altmer. It's been the cause of two wars so far, one of which ended in a truce leading to this ongoing one. You've woken to interesting times. A rebellion in Skyrim against the Empire, and the dragons are coming back to life."

_'Very funny, see how gullible the ancient vampire is.'_ The thing about the hero-god of Mankind she might have swallowed. Dragons on top of that? She wasn't stupid. Everyone knew most of them had died in the Dragon War, and their dry bones couldn't be brought back to life. Her mother had tried. Her father _had_ uncovered another pointless prophecy, something about a World-Eater waking up and turning a wheel on the last Dragonborn, but that was about as likely as vampires ending the Tyranny of the Sun.

"Is that all of them?" Sithia looked around. "What about that one?" She pointed at a enthroned draugr overlooking the sacrificial fire pit below, its horned helmet resembling a crown.

It looked dead enough, but then draugr were masters at playing dead. Serana closed her eyes, concentrating. "It's a live one." She could feel the concentration of magic around it, the malevolent watchfulness just waiting for anything to come near it. Wait, something wasn't right. That was no ordinary draugr…

By the time she opened her eyes, Sithia was already creeping over to it. For a moment it looked like it wouldn't even wake up before her blade put it to sleep for good. Then those ghostly blue eyes flared up, and it took a deep rattling breath.

"ZUN HAAL VIIK!"

_Weapon hand defeat…_

Before Serana had time to wonder what the Shout meant by that, it ripped the sword from Sithia's hand and sent her tumbling down the steps.

The draugr stood, Ebony greatsword raised. Serana's Ice Spikes failed to penetrate its armour, but knocked it back against the throne. That gave Sithia time to roll to her feet, draw her dagger and pounce. The draugr fell slack, that small Ebony blade buried up to the hilt under its chin.

"Teamwork, right there."

Sithia pulled her dagger free and wiped off the blackish blood on the truly dead draugr's skin. "I have to admit it's handy to have a pet vampire. Especially one who's good in a fight."

"You're pretty good yourself." She retrieved Sithia's sword and handed it back to her. "Although you're lucky I'm good enough at spellcasting not to hit you by accident. You're unpredictable – I don't recognise your fighting style."

Sithia sheathed her sword and picked up the draugr's sword, weighing it in her hands. She let it clatter down onto the steps. Too heavy, probably. "I was trained to kill, not to fight."

No doubt thanks to her upbringing in a dubious cult.

She watched as Sithia wandered over to a curved wall with some sort of inscription. Dragon Language. Incredible – a word wall!

Much as she wanted to get moving and finally get out of this damn cave, she understood Sithia's fascination with it. She walked over to inspect it herself. It wasn't every day that she got to read that language outside of books. It was a pity her mother hadn't spared time for them to see it all those years ago.

Sithia was running her fingers across the last inscribed word. "Lah," she whispered.

_Magicka._

Serana raised her eyebrows. This mortal kept surprising her. "You know Dovahzul? And at your age? I'm impressed."

"I'm not fluent. I just know a few words. I have no idea what the rest of it says."

Serana ran her hand over the carved dashes and dots, translating each word as she touched it. "Lungerd raised this stone in memory of her husband, Thorgrima, keeper of the crimson flame, and lord of Magicka."

"When did you learn Dragon Tongue?"

"I've been around for a while. A girl has to do something to keep boredom away."

"Including learning foreign languages, apparently."

"It comes in useful when you like to read as much as I do. I can't wait to get my hands on all of the books I must have missed."

"Eager to leave, are we?"

"Absolutely." There was a door up the stairs behind that last draugr's throne. Serana shoved it open. Her breath caught. _Finally._ She'd never been more glad to see sunlight.

Sithia caught her arm. "What are you doing?!"

"Being in sunlight will be better than a moment longer in this cave." Nordic ruin or not, it was still a cave, right down to the ragged gap in the rock that served as the back door.

"Do you want to burst into flames, or have you forgotten what happens?"

Serana smirked. "Don't worry, I already said that I'm not your average vampire. And even your average Skyrim vampire doesn't burn in sunlight. That's what Cyrodiilic vampires do. It's just unpleasant for me." She shrugged off Sithia's hand and hurried outside, pulling her hood up.

She regretted it the moment she stepped into the light. It was like running into a wall. Every breath hurt, and her exposed skin stung. Her head ached despite the shade provided by her cloak. Not the usual dull ache either, this time it was blinding and sharp.

So bright. Sunlight was bad enough for that, but when the ground was carpeted in snow? She'd have to walk around with her eyes shut for this to be bearable.

Still, it was worth the pain for the exhilaration of fresh air on her skin, the rush of the bracing wind! The scent of the pine trees, and something else… what was it? She longed for the moons to rise. Her senses were worse than a human's in sunlight. Probably. She couldn't really remember.

"Serana! Get back in the cave!"

She turned to look at Sithia as she rushed out. "I told you, it's just unpleasant—"

_"Get back in the fucking cave, you stupid vampire!"_

Serana bristled. Angry words died on her lips when a shadow blotted out the sun. A roar unlike anything she'd ever heard split the air. She looked up.

_'By the blood…'_

There wasn't any wind. Just the beat of those enormous wings.

She couldn't move. Not to speak. Not to breathe. Not to ready her magic. Certainly not to run.

The only fear that came close to the one she'd faced back in Dimhollow, the fear all vampires shared: eternity cut short by consuming flames.

_'Please don't be a fire-breathing dragon.'_

"YOL—"

_Fire._

"—TOOR—"

_Inferno…_

* * *

AN: I should perhaps mention that I may be a little addicted to cliffies. But I don't think that one is too bad. This would be an awfully short story if I killed the protagonists off at the beginning.

So, what do you think of the story so far, and of Serana and her pretty stupid Dragonborn? I had quite a lot of fun writing this. I hope it's fun to read.

Coming up next: Serana's first dragon fight, the journey home and her first meeting with her father in a very long time.


	3. Chapter 2: Sithia Dragonborn

**Chapter 2: Sithia Dragonborn**

Serana braced herself. This was going to hurt. A lot. Maybe even kill her instantly if dragon's fire was hot enough.

"WULD!"

A sharp _crack_ split the air. Something barrelled into her, knocking her—

She skidded to a halt, spluttering on snow. She spat out a mouthful and swiped snowflakes out of her eyes.

_…Whirlwind…_

"—SHUL!"

_Sun._

Serana cringed. Flames crackled, blending with the dragon's enraged roar. She forced herself to stop trembling like a leaf. Yes, she'd had a narrow escape from that fire, but it was nowhere near her, thanks to…

_'Sithia?!'_

Serana twisted around to see her sprinting back towards the dragon, feet impossibly quiet in the snow, drawing her sword.

Serana struggled to her feet and raised her hands, her magic coalescing as familiar shards of ice. She hurled them at the dragon, a follow up melting away when the spells glanced off that scaly green hide. She'd have to try to hit weak points. Those eyes, burning with intelligence crueller than any vampire?

"FUS RO DAH!"

A wall of force slammed into the dragon. It crashed to the ground, snow erupting into the air.

Serana stared. Incredible. This mortal, her Voice more powerful than one of the dov, or at least that particular dovah. Maybe it had caught those wings at just the right angle, but it was still the most impressive thing Serana had ever seen in all her years. All her centuries.

Sithia faltered and doubled over, gasping for air.

Too powerful for her own good. Had she'd Shouted too much in such a short space of time for her body to cope with? If so, that was Serana's fault.

Guilt a heavy weight in her heart, Serana started to hurry over to her, her feet crunching in the snow, when Sithia groaned and straightened up. She staggered over to the dragon as it raised its head. It snapped at her, mouth big enough and teeth sharp enough to easily bite her in two – if it could.

Sithia sidestepped it and thrust her sword into its exposed throat, somehow finding a weak point between those tough scales. The dragon gurgled. Crimson blood trickled from its jaws.

Sithia let go of her sword and threw herself back as it collapsed. She tripped over and sprawled on the ground, panting. She reached up and pulled down her mask, breath misting the air with each wheezing exhalation. Golden light spread from her hands, streaming around her body to flow into her throat until it faded away. She'd definitely over-Shouted, then.

Crackling drew Serana's attention back to the dragon. Burning from the inside, the dragon's scaly skin flaked away, flesh dissolving into ash, and the blackened bones collapsed into the snow. But it was the blinding light streaming from the dragon into Sithia that made her gasp. She briefly shone as bright as the sun, although it didn't hurt to look at her unlike with the sun itself.

That explained what Sithia's strange power was, if the Shouting hadn't already implied it. Dovahkiin… A dragon on the inside. Aedric, not Daedric. Yet somehow it didn't hurt to be near her, not as proximity did to other Aedric influences like their shrines. The same with that dragon before it was killed by her pet dragon slayer. Dragons were far enough removed from the Aedra, maybe?

Sithia climbed to her feet and stumbled over to the dragon's skull. She pushed at it, muscles straining. It only wobbled slightly.

"Svaan tiid. Svaan tiid zu'u saan dii zahkriil. Nil kun nii!"

_Every time. Every time I lose my sword. Void take it!_

Serana stared. If that was not fluent, Sithia had a very strange idea of fluency. She shook her head and walked over to heave the dragon's skull up. Sithia's sword lay under it, blade snapped.

Sithia groaned. "Svaan—" She cleared her throat, snarling in the process. "Every fucking time! _That_ takes longer to wear off every time too. I'll be stuck speaking dragon in the end, just like most of the sodding Greybeards."

So her temporary fluency in Dovahzul was a side effect of stealing a dragon's soul. Interesting…

"Something you forgot to mention, Dragonborn?"

Serana caught a brief glimpse of Sithia's face before she pulled up her mask. She met Serana's fascinated gaze with a furious glare.

"I have a name, you know. Dragonborn is _what_ I am, it's not _who_ I am. And no, I didn't forget to tell you. I'm not the only one withholding things here. Besides, would you have believed me? I'm not exactly the Nordic hero of legend."

"If you'd demonstrated your Thu'um—"

"Fuck you. Everyone and their dog demands that! I'm so fucking fed up of having to prove it, and even more so of the way it changes how everyone looks at me. As if I've turned into someone else. Something else. I'm still the same person I was before you knew I slay dragons and steal their souls better than I can do anything else. And the way you all instantly forget my name… How would you like it if everyone called you Vampire?"

"I'm sorry."

"Forget it. The sooner I get you home the better. One less person to look at me as if I'm no longer human."

_'What I am, not who I am…'_ Back in Dimhollow, that was the exact reason she'd given for wanting to know Sithia's name. No wonder Sithia had seemed shaken; it had struck a chord. It had been exactly what she wanted to hear, and then Serana had ruined it within the same hour. She had to fix this. Somehow.

"Sithia, wait." Serana stepped in the way as she tried to stalk past, gently but firmly gripping her shoulders. "I understand. That's the same way mortals look at me if they realise that no one alive has eyes like mine or skin this pale and cold. And they're right. I'm not human, and haven't been for… for a very long time." _'Who knows how long by now.'_ "And you're not entirely human, you know. Dovah sil ahrk dovah sos. Human in body, but dragon in blood and soul."

"So the legend says, but if that's really true about the blood why didn't you notice something was different about me before you even opened your eyes?"

"I didn't exactly have anything to compare it to! Besides, everyone has their own unique flavour, even within family and race. Even a single person's blood varies depending on age, illness, emotions… I can tell a lot about someone through a single taste."

"Oh?" Sithia looked a little uneasy, but interested. "What does my blood tell you?" She stepped back and pulled her right gauntlet off, drew her dagger and cut it across her palm. A quick burst of golden light flared up as she healed it, and she held the bloodied Ebony out.

Serana caught a drop of the blood dripping from the blade on a fingertip, brought it to her lips and sucked it into her mouth. She inhaled sharply, eyes flying wide open. The urge to feed hit hard, to experience that richest taste combined with the warmth and freshness direct from the source.

She staggered back and closed her eyes as she fought for control, clamping her mouth shut until her fangs retracted back into their sheaths.

"Well?"

"Give me a minute," she said, her voice strained. "And don't stand so close. That was… your blood is… I can't even begin to describe it. Nothing compares to it." She sighed. "Whoever I drink next is going to taste so bland."

"Overpowering, huh? Guess you won't be getting to know anything about me that way."

"I didn't say that." Serana narrowed her eyes at her, frowning in concentration. "You're in the prime of your life, what is that for humans now… Twenty, thirty years old?"

"Thirty. At least, that's what I am. Other people might peak earlier or later." Sithia raised an eyebrow and scoffed, "But you could tell that just from looking at my face while you had the chance."

So she wanted proof. Fine, Serana could arrange that. "You've recently recovered from Bone Break Fever. And… you might want to take a cure disease potion if you have one, or hope that there's a shrine close enough. Or you'll be a creature of the night within three days."

"Damn it, you mean…"

"Yes, you've been infected by one of my kin. Recently, or I'd have been able to smell it. Taste reveals so much more."

"I thought I was just tired... Damn it. So that's what that weird sickly red spell was." She rummaged through her pack, but her hand was empty when it emerged. "Fuck. I don't have any potions to cure diseases. Hopefully I can buy one in Dawnstar, or find a shrine or a priest there." Sithia straightened up and looked back at Serana. Nervously. Odd, what was that about? "Anything else? You said something about emotions."

Ah. So Sithia had realised too late that her blood might reveal more than she wanted it to.

"That I did. Fear is bitter. That's why I prefer a willing meal, or at least sleeping – so long as my meal isn't in the grips of a nightmare. Yours isn't remotely bitter, though it could be sweeter. Holding onto that much anger isn't good for your heart, you know."

"Yes, yes, I know. But I think it comes with the territory of being Dragonborn. I've not met a dragon yet that wasn't angry. Is that all you know? My anger management issues drown anything else out?"

"Pretty much."

Sithia's relief was given away when her shoulders relaxed. She turned away, walking back towards the cave.

Serana smiled. There was something else that anger couldn't hide. Something very interesting. Amusing. Flattering, too. The mighty vampire hunting Dragonborn, attracted to someone she really shouldn't be. But it was hardly the mortal's fault. Another benefit of being a pure-blooded vampire: it preserved her looks from mortality instead of detracting from them as with half-bloods or even thinner blooded.

Seducing her would make it so much easier to keep her around, and so much easier to persuade her to let her feed from time to time. And it would be no hardship, that's for sure. Serana let her eyes wander up and down Sithia's body, lingering on the curves that leather armour did nothing to hide. No, no hardship at all. A pleasure.

It would be even easier to try to make a thrall of her, but she'd never liked to do that to mortals, preferring to befriend them. That way she could have intelligent conversation as well as blood. Until her father inevitably found out and gave her a choice of turning or killing her _pet_. That wouldn't happen this time.

Serana felt a twinge of guilt for her less than honourable intentions. She owed Sithia so much – her freedom, her life, guiding her home – and this really wasn't the best way to repay her. But it wasn't taking advantage of her. Not exactly. Despite the fact that she'd only just met Sithia, she already cared about her. The irony… Sithia herself had said that she was not her new best friend. Yet despite that she was the closest thing Serana had to a friend.

Wait. Sithia wasn't inspecting the damage the dragon's fire breath had done.

"We only just got out of that cave and you want to go back inside?"

"Not particularly, but in case you haven't noticed, I'm currently lacking a sword." With that, Sithia disappeared back inside Dimhollow. Serana reluctantly followed her, lingering as close as she could to the entrance while she watched Sithia roam around the sacrificial chamber inspecting the draugr and skeletons' weapons.

She returned with a notched ancient Nordic sword, scowling at it. "I'll need to get a better sword in Dawnstar. How many dragon bones and scales can you carry? I'll need to trade them if I want something that might survive the next dragon. Ebony, maybe."

"That last draugr had an Ebony—"

"Apart from the fact that it's too heavy, I've never used a greatsword before. Shorter blades are my speciality."

"Like swords?"

"Daggers. I had to train myself how to use a sword instead after killing my first dragon. I can manage to slay a dragon with a dagger, but it gets me far too close to those teeth for comfort."

Going back outside the cave, the agony of sunlight exposure hit Serana anew. She staggered, throwing an arm across her eyes to shield them from that horrible glare. In theory her hood should have been enough. In practice? Not at all.

"Can we please wait until dusk? I'm sorry, I can't travel when it's like this. Not until I can feed from someone living, it'll be just about bearable if I can do that."

"Fine." Sithia took her arm and guided her back inside the cave, away from the tyranny of the sun.

* * *

"What's it like to absorb a dragon's soul?"

Sithia looked up sharply at Serana's question. Her eyes glinted mischievously in the Magelight she'd cast as it grew darker inside the cave. "Better than sex."

If the mortal was trying to embarrass her, she'd have to do better than that. "Like feeding can be for vampires, then."

Sithia's heart skipped a beat.

Serana looked over at her, concerned. Sithia was pressed against the wall of the cave, as far away as she could get without fleeing outside. "What's wrong?"

"Should I be worried?"

"Why would you be?"

"If feeding is that good to you, and I happen to be the tastiest morsel you've ever met?" Sithia's fingers strayed to the hilt of her dagger. "Oh, no reason."

Serana laced her fingers together and made sure her fangs stayed put in their sheaths. "I told you, I prefer a willing meal. And I need a guide home, remember? Eating you wouldn't help me get there."

"What's stopping you from enthralling me and getting a guide and a meal in one convenient package?"

"Even if I wanted to – and I don't, never cared for having a thrall – I doubt it'd work on you any more than it would on a dragon."

"And when I get you home, then what'll stop you from turning me into a snack?"

Of course her new pet would have to be paranoid… "I know I'm asking a lot, but please, trust me. Betraying you like that would be a pretty horrible way to repay you for freeing me, saving me from dragon fire and getting me home."

"By the Nine, this is probably the stupidest thing I've ever done… But for some reason I can't just point you in the right direction, even if I gave you a map." Sithia shook her head. She added in a mutter at the edge of Serana's hearing: "Always had a weakness for a pretty face."

Serana suppressed a smile. So the mighty Dragonborn wasn't in denial about her attraction. Good to know. This should make it even easier to get that willing meal…

* * *

After the sun finally set, Sithia tapped her on the shoulder as Serana made a move to get outside, the moonlight calling out to her.

Serana whimpered at having to wait. Patience had never been her strong suit. "What is it?"

"You haven't told me where we're going."

"I told you, I don't—"

"How am I meant to get you home when I don't know where your home is?"

"Oh." Now she felt stupid, but at least it was also pretty stupid of Sithia not to ask until now. "It's on an island near Solitude. At least it was. I doubt either of my parents would move away from there, though. If they're still alive – well, undead – one of them should be there."

There was a rustle of parchment as Sithia dug her map out from her pack.

Serana turned to watch as Sithia unfolded the map and poked the island nearest Solitude. "Here?"

Serana stared at the map. It was drawn in ink, except for a blood red 'x' that must be marking where they stood. An intake of breath revealed that it was a drop of Sithia's own blood. She watched, fascinated, as the blood flowed to the island Sithia had touched, leaving a thin red line. Showing the route to get there…

"Yes, I have an enchanted map. A map I'm trying to use to see where we need to go. Where is – or was – your home?"

"Sorry. It's, well, it's not on your map."

"That's impossible, this map has every part of Skyrim on it."

"My family's island isn't part of Skyrim. It's here." Serana reached over to tap the map. No trail of blood spread to it. She poked it again. "Why isn't it working?"

Sithia swatted her hand away and tapped that spot on the map twice. That line of blood traced the route to it.

"It's keyed to you, isn't it?"

"Obviously."

"It's fantastic! Did you make it?"

"I'm no enchanter. It was a gift from a very appreciative court wizard. He's fascinated by dragons, and gave me this in exchange for a sample of my blood as payment. He needed some for the map anyway, so it was the best deal I've ever made." She folded the map up and shoved it back into her pack.

Serana darted outside. She sighed happily as the moonlight caressed her skin for the first time in centuries.

Sithia's heartbeat was the only indication of her presence, her movements magically muffled. That and her breathing, Serana mused, as she heard Sithia's breath catch.

She turned to look at her and found the mortal staring at her, transfixed. Oh, right. Serana had been told before by her proud parents that her beauty was at its best by the light of the moons, even before she became a vampire. Her physical charms certainly had their benefits… although at times it was a very mixed blessing, considering that they were small part of what earned her and her parents a Daedric Prince's favour. Catching the eye of the most powerful mortal in existence was an unexpected bonus.

Serana clicked her fingers, and smirked when Sithia blinked. She looked away, a blush spreading across what little of her face was exposed.

Serana took pity on the flustered Dragonborn, walking over to the remains of the dragon and collecting as many bones and scales as she was willing to carry.

"Come on, let's go. We won't get to Dawnstar tonight, but I want to get as far as we can."

* * *

They travelled as far as they could along the snow blanketed road before the sunrise made Serana stop in her tracks. She hissed and pulled her hood up. It was a relief when Sithia got her tent up to shield her from the sun, although it was surreal to watch her pull it from her knapsack. No wonder she'd wanted Serana to carry all of the dragon remains. That pack had to be enchanted, but Serana had already suspected that – it should have been overflowing from the stamina potions Sithia had been steadily consuming all night.

"Aren't you going to sleep?"

Sithia pointedly retrieved another of the sickly green potions instead.

_'Damn it.'_ That was a painful reminder that Sithia didn't trust her. Especially not after she'd stupidly revealed how delicious her blood was.

Serana laid a hand over the bottle when Sithia moved to uncork it. "Don't. I may not be quite the alchemist my mother is—" At least she hoped 'is' was still the case… "—but I know that an overdose of those could kill you."

"I know my limits. And I know too many of these are bad for my health. I need them sometimes anyway, especially if I get tired and need to stay sharp." Sithia met her gaze, eyes just as hard as when they'd met. "Let me put this in no uncertain terms: I'm not about to sleep around you. Especially not when I know how tasty you find my blood."

"I've told you, I prefer a willing meal."

"Yes, but you said it yourself that's because fear tastes bitter. Thing is, I'm not afraid of you."

"I need you to get me home, remember? I'm not about to drain you dry."

"So you say, but what's to stop you from taking any chance you can? Just to have a little bit. And then you might get carried away."

"Look, I'm perfectly in control of my bloodlust. Please, just trust me. Don't do this to yourself. At least rest in Dawnstar when we get there. I won't try anything anyway, but I certainly won't around other people. Feeding is a private thing, you know. It's almost as intimate as turning someone, or can be when done gently."

Sithia shoved her hand away and drained the bottle. She tossed it aside. "I know what I'm doing. I know to stop when I start seeing double, and that won't happen for a few days yet. Besides, I need to use these things to travel at night."

"Then we travel during the day. I won't risk this – won't risk you."

"You just want my blood to taste at its best. Doing this protects me better."

Serana clenched her fists, nails digging into her palms as she resisted the urge to scream. "What can I do to prove that you can trust me?"

"Absolutely nothing."

"Sithia..." She tried and failed to stifle the whine in her voice. "What is your problem with me? I thought..." Her shoulders slumped. "Never mind."

"That I like you? That's precisely the problem. I like you too much. I can't trust you because I can't trust myself."

Well, that was a relief and a bitter blow at the same time. But she could work with that. "I swear to you that I won't feed from you unless you invite me to of your own free will."

"I'm sorry, I can't—"

"I swear it by the blood of my ancestors." Serana drew her Elven dagger and sliced it across her palm, letting the deep crimson blood spill onto the snow. She looked down at the cut when it failed to close. Oh, damn it, she should have waited until nightfall to make that promise. It wouldn't heal so long as she was in the sun, unless she fed. And she'd just sworn not to do that with the only source of blood at hand. The tent didn't provide enough shade, the light still penetrated the cloth too much for her own good.

Sithia sighed heavily. "Oh, all right." Finally. She must have felt the magic behind Serana's oath. If she broke it there would be some kind of serious consequence. Exactly what she didn't know, as she'd never broken a blood oath, but it would be unpleasant. Rather more unpleasant than a minor wound that wouldn't heal for hours yet.

Sithia pulled out some strips of cloth and crouched beside Serana to bandage her hand. "Stupid vampire. Wait until you can heal yourself before you pull something that dramatic again."

As embarrassing as it was to be chastised, especially by a mortal so much younger than she was, it felt good to know that Sithia cared.

"Thank you. Are you going to get some rest now?"

Sithia pulled her bedroll from her pack. "Yes, provided you don't take that dagger to yourself again."

"I don't intend to make a habit of it. Sleep well."

* * *

The rest of their journey to Dawnstar was uneventful, unhindered by the beautiful Skyrim weather. They did come across a giant camp, but the single sleepy resident was easily handled. Sithia hamstrung the poor thing while Serana pounced when he collapsed. Unfortunately giant blood was worse than that of a skooma addict, but still more palatable than that dead thrall. She'd be able to tolerate sunlight now, sparing Sithia from using quite so many of those horrible potions.

The Tower of Dawn loomed on the horizon. At first Serana thought it looked much the same as it did from the times she'd seen it when sailing past on the way to Winterhold, and the one time she went ashore with her mother to get to Dimhollow. But… No. It was a ruin, a large chunk of it bitten out by time.

Serana bit her lip and looked over at Sithia. She wanted to ask exactly how much time had passed, but she was afraid of the answer now.

Sithia spoke up as though she could feel Serana's eyes on her. "Before we reach civilisation, I should mention that the name I tend to go by is 'Cynthia'. So when we're among innocent citizens, try to remember to call me that. It's close enough that people probably won't notice if you forget, though."

"Why tell me your real name?" It certainly hadn't been because she trusted her.

"I figured a vampire wouldn't judge me for it. At least not one wearing a choker like yours."

"Choker?"

"The metal thing around your neck with the ugly face on it. Forgotten you're wearing it?"

Serana's hand flew to her neck and she grimaced. _'If only…'_ "Oh, that. And no, I don't judge you or your parents for worshipping Sithis."

"Good. By the way, how do you take that off?"

"Why do you ask?"

"Because it looks uncomfortable."

"It is, considering that it's silver." Sithia's eyes widened briefly before they narrowed in concern, so Serana hastened to add, "Don't worry, it doesn't really hurt me. It would have to penetrate the skin for that. The ache from my thirst is worse."

"Good, but still, why in the name of Sithis would you wear it?"

"You're assuming I wear it by choice." Serana looked away. This was getting far too close to a topic she wanted to avoid. "It was a gift, and I can't take it off. Besides, that cowl of yours looks uncomfortable too."

"It's a lot more comfortable than my head would be without it. In case you haven't noticed, it's _winter_ in _Skyrim_, and not all of us have a Nordic vampire's immunity to cold. Every single piece of my armour is enchanted so I don't feel it quite so badly."

That didn't explain why she'd kept the cowl on back in Dimhollow. Surely she didn't think it would protect her neck from a determined vampire?

"I guess I'll have to wait until we're somewhere warmer so I can see what you look like."

"You've already seen my face."

"Briefly. Too briefly."

"Why are you so interested anyway?"

"Because I'm interested in you. Getting to know you, I mean." Serana paused, frowning. There was something bothering her about Sithia's name. "What you said about people forgetting your name once they know what you are… Why does it bother you so much when it's not your real name they're—"

Sithia growled. "It may not be my true name but it's the closest thing I have to it. I can count on the fingers of one hand how many people have used my real name – that's including you! At this point, Cynthia might as well be my actual name. Just… drop it, okay?"

"I'm sorry."

"Don't apologise! You aren't the problem with that any more. You know better. You can't apologise for anyone else." Sithia dug a cloak out from her pack, crossing over to Serana to wrap it around the Scroll. "There. Anyone who can use magic will still feel its presence, but it might not attract so much attention now."

"Thank—Wait, what's that?"

This time Sithia heard it too, her head turning in the direction of the distant roar echoing from Dawnstar.

"Dragon. Wait here!" Sithia started sprinting along the snowy road.

Serana dropped her armful of dead dragon and hurried after her.

"I said wait there, you stupid vampire!" Sithia shouted back over her shoulder.

Serana drew level with her. Sithia could run fast for a mortal, but she couldn't outrun a vampire before dawn. "I'm not leaving you to face a dragon alone!"

"Don't be a fucking idiot," Sithia panted. "I can kill dragons in my sleep. Stay back!"

"No, I can help you. For all you know this one might be a frost breather. You need me – that sword is almost blunt."

"Fine, just don't get yourself—"

The dragon soared above them, swooping around for another pass, blue scales shimmering in the light of the imminent sunrise. "FO KRAH DIIN!"

The blizzard of ice streaming from the dragon's gaping maw came with a brief moment of relief. As a pure-blooded Volkihar vampire, ice was her element. Fear came fast on the heels of that relief. Sithia was directly in the path of the frost breath. Enchanted armour or not, that extreme burst of cold might well kill her.

Serana moved as fast as only a vampire could, shoving her Dragonborn out of danger. The shock of the cold stole her breath away, but it couldn't hurt her. She raised her hands and sent a burst of lightning and an Ice Spike at the dragon as it swept overhead.

The ice coating her hair, exposed skin and armour broke away as she moved, jumping up to grab the dragon's tail. Serana swung herself up onto its spiny back, digging her dagger under its scales and tearing herself an opening. She reached inside, snapped the nearest rib and plunged the Elven blade inside as far as she could reach.

The dragon screamed and plummeted into a snowdrift. Serana held on grimly. This would be so embarrassing if the dragon rolled over and crushed her.

Her unorthodox mount shuddered and fell limp. From near its head, Sithia cursed.

Serana blinked. She hadn't noticed Sithia's approach. She pulled her arm out of the dragon's side, plastered in hot dragon blood. She absently sucked her hand and bracer clean, savouring the rich flavour that almost matched Sithia's, and moved close enough to see Sithia tug her sword out of the dragon's eye socket. The blade had broken, leaving her holding its hilt.

Just like Serana's first dragon, the second burned from within, the pure light of its soul flowing into Sithia.

"Nil kun nii," Sithia muttered, and tossed the remains of the draugr sword aside. She brushed off the snow coating her armour. From the coverage, it seemed that Serana had managed to shove her into a snowdrift. She finally pulled that damn cowl off to shake the snow out of it, dropped it onto her pack and started picking it out of her hair.

Dark hair, every bit as dark as her eyebrows, and even darker than Serana's own. It was kept braided back out of the way except for two loose forelocks framing her face. An angular face with high cheekbones and a narrow chin, her skin almost as pale as Serana's but still with the warmth of life. That explained why it was so obvious when she blushed, poor thing. She'd be pretty if not for the harsh lines etched into her skin from too much scowling and too little smiling.

Except her lips finally curled into a smile, softening her features and transforming them from potentially pretty to breathtaking beauty.

_'Like it or not, you're going to smile far more often if I have anything to do with it, and at least lose the mask even if you have to keep that damn cowl.'_

"Geblaan?"

_…Complete?_ What could she possibly mean by that? Oh. Right, _finished._

"Sorry," Serana muttered.

Sithia cleared her throat and coughed as the influence of her stolen dragon soul wore off. "You were staring."

"I was half expecting scars. I didn't have time to notice any earlier."

"Those are on my body." Sithia's eyes widened as though she suddenly realised what she had let slip. She squeaked – such a funny, pathetic little sound to escape the big bad Dragonborn – her cheeks burning as she looked away. She snatched up her cowl and tugged it back on, together with the mask.

One day, Serana promised herself, she was going to steal that oh-so-frustrating thing and make sure Sithia couldn't hide herself with it ever again.

"Dragonborn!" The first of Dawnstar's guards had appeared, with what looked like the whole town following him. Including a gaunt old man wearing fine clothes and a silver circlet set with sapphires, who shoved past his guard and seized Serana's hand. Fortunately he went for the one that was still warm from being buried in the dragon, so he didn't notice she was far too cold to be alive.

"Dawnstar owes you a debt, Dragonborn."

Serana looked helplessly at Sithia.

Sithia groaned and dropped her head into her hands. "She's not the Dragonborn. I am."

"You? But you're not a Nord!"

"My Jarl," the nearest guard murmured, "Rumour has it that the Dragonborn is an Imperial woman."

"I see. Well, prove it."

Serana winced. She could feel Sithia seething beside her. This was not going to end well…

* * *

AN: Jarl Skald the Elder may or may not regret that demand. What do you think Sithia will do? What do you think of the chapter in general – the dragon fights, how Serana and Sithia are getting along so far, everything else… How am I doing?

Dovahzul translations from thuum dot org and a bit of grammatical stuff from the Unofficial Elder Scrolls Pages. I've probably made mistakes. If so, then I guess that means Sithia's speaking like a dragon can be a bit scrambled by the death of the dragon whose soul she just snaffled. And that Serana isn't quite as fluent as she thinks she is.

Coming up next: a night in Dawnstar and a lot of rowing to get home. Hopefully meeting up with daddy dear too, provided the chapter ends where it's supposed to.

Edited to correct a few errors. Please tell me if you spot any, as they drive me crazy when I spot them with later rereading.


	4. Chapter 3: Home Sweet Castle

**Chapter 3: Home Sweet Castle**

"IIZ!"

The Jarl toppled over, encased in ice. Sithia stalked past him, the crowd scattering like spooked rabbits to allow her through. They clustered back together, staring from their frozen Jarl to the infuriated Dragonborn storming away towards their hometown.

Serana knelt down beside the old man, forcing her fingers through the ice. Much as he deserved what he got, it wouldn't help Sithia at all to accidentally kill the Jarl of the Pale. He gasped for air once Serana had broken through enough of it.

Watching his face contort, undoubtedly about to erupt in humiliated rage, Serana concentrated. She hoped there were no mages in the crowd, or someone might feel what she was doing.

"I'm disappointed, my Jarl. I'd heard so much about you, the most upstanding Nord in Skyrim, and this is how you treat the chosen one of Akatosh?"

The Jarl's face went slack for a moment as the illusion magic behind her voice ensnared him. She held her breath, hoping that she hadn't overdone it. It would be a little obvious if the most powerful man in the Hold started following her around begging to serve her every whim.

"I… You're right, you're right, I'm terribly sorry. We owe her so much. I must apologise." He scrambled up, the last of the ice cracking away. He stumbled after Sithia. "Dragonborn! I am sorry."

Sithia halted. She stood rigid, fists clenched at her side.

"You have saved my home – our home – from ruin. Anything we can give you, anything at all, name it, and we will. Within reason. I am honoured to name you Thane of the Pale."

Serana blinked. Sithia's reaction to that highest of honours for a commoner was to swear viciously. Too quietly for the Jarl or anyone other than a vampire – or maybe a werewolf – to hear.

Sithia turned and nodded stiffly. "Thank you, my Jarl. All I need is a new sword, a bed for the night – beds for the night, rather – food, and transport to Solitude and beyond."

She left off the cure disease potion. Serana would have to remind her about that in private, unless Sithia had intentionally not mentioned it because she didn't want to draw attention to the idea of vampirism.

"Rustleif, Thoring, Harlaug! Do whatever the Dragonborn asks. I am sure she will reimburse you for your help."

Anything except pay for what the damn Dragonborn needed, it seemed. At least there was an entire dragon skeleton that Sithia could lay claim to. Pity they had no idea there would be a dragon here, as that would have saved her from lugging around the bones and scales all the way from Dimhollow. At least it meant she didn't have to go back to collect them.

"Drop by the Windpeak Inn, and I will provide hearty food, hot water and warm beds for you both. On the house." At least the innkeeper, a red-haired Nord, was suitably grateful.

"Follow me, Dragonborn, my finest sword is yours." It sounded like the blacksmith was equally grateful too, unless he meant it'd be hers after she paid for it.

"Come see me when you're ready to leave, ladies. My boat is moored over there." The ferryman pointed across the bay, to where the only rowboat around was rocking in the gentle ebb and flow of the tide. Sithia probably couldn't make it out. Serana very soon wouldn't be able to either, as the sun was cresting over the rocky hills to the east.

They followed the blacksmith to his forge, his snow white hair catching the light of the sun so badly that Serana couldn't bear to look at him. She looked away, noticing the minimal damage to the buildings, although several showed signs of something big perching on them. Including the inn. No wonder the innkeeper was so grateful. The dragon must have been about to tear the place down when it felt Sithia's approach.

"Rustleif, I hope you're going to do what I'm thinking." The Redguard who'd caught up with them looped her arm through the blacksmith's. His wife, judging by their matching gold rings. More than that, his pregnant wife – Serana could hear that little heartbeat within her.

"Of course. We're doing well enough to be able to afford to give a sword away to someone who really deserves it. Like you, Dragonborn. In fact, take everything you need, Skyrim owes you a great deal."

"At least take a bone and a scale from that dragon!"

"I am honoured, Dragonborn, but I refuse to let you pay when my countrymen owe you so much more."

The Redguard kissed her husband's cheek and disappeared inside their house, murmuring her thanks to Sithia on the way past.

"I've already been made a Thane twice over now, and got a free house in Whiterun out of it!"

Serana leaned close. "Don't argue too much, we might need those bones and scales to pay for a boat ride to my home." If not for that damn cowl, her breath would be brushing against Sithia's skin. That enchanted leather robbed her of what would undoubtedly be an interesting reaction.

"Ferrymen never charge more than fifty septims, I've got that much to spare."

"They're going to ask for a lot more to go anywhere near my home. It's not only twice as far as Solitude, it's where trespassers don't return from."

"Then we might have to walk from Solitude. I doubt the ferryman will accept payment in heavy bones and scales, no matter how valuable they are."

"We could buy a horse." Hopefully Serana would be able to enthral it if she had to. She'd never tried with animals, and living ones tended to object violently to her.

"In my experience they die within an hour. Usually horribly."

"A horse could get us a good bit of the way in that hour."

"It'd be a very expensive hour! Even if I had the gold, I'm tired of being the reason horses die. Maybe a carriage driver would go out of his way if bribed enough…"

The blacksmith cleared his throat. "I couldn't help but overhear, but if Harlaug is a true Nord, he should go out of his way to help you. For free, although you might need to shame him into it. He's a stubborn bastard, but a prideful one."

"Thanks, but I'd prefer to avoid that. He needs to earn a living just as you do, so I'll make sure you get a bone and scale."

That probably meant Sithia wouldn't let her enthral the ferryman into taking them all the way to her home. It'd be worth a try, though.

"This is my best sword. Not my own work, I'm afraid. This is beyond me." The blacksmith held out a glass sword, the beautiful shimmering green length almost as long as Sithia was tall.

Predictably, Sithia's brows were drawn down into a scowl. "Your stock has something to be desired. I've never handled a greatsword before. I don't have time to learn, not when there might be a dragon to slay tomorrow."

"This is Dawnstar, Dragonborn. The only place more remote is Winterhold, and they haven't had a blacksmith for a very long time."

Serana frowned. What did he mean by that? She knew Winterhold as a thriving city, the last port before Morrowind for the sailors who didn't care to go inland to Windhelm. It had been her home during her apprenticeship at the College. She'd loved it as much as she hated the gilded cage of her parental home. She looked up at the crumbling Tower of Dawn and swallowed hard. Would she find Winterhold just as crumbly?

"It's iron and steel I work with, you're lucky I have anything stronger. If you can't handle the greatsword, I forge fine steel swords."

"It was a Skyforge steel sword that didn't survive slaying that dragon."

Strictly speaking that wasn't true, but the blacksmith was already all but worshipping the ground Sithia stood on. If he knew she'd slain two dragons in as many days, he'd be kissing her boots. Or maybe even proposing to her. Despite his pretty and pregnant wife, he kept eyeing Sithia's chest. Wait, not her breasts, but the amulet resting just above them. Serana's eyes flinched away from it, no wonder she hadn't noticed it until now. Was that an Amulet of Mara? Maybe the blacksmith was just innocently wondering who the lucky bastard was that would marry the Dragonborn. Serana made a mental note to ask her about that, when the time seemed right.

"Tell you what, take two of my finest steel swords. That should keep you going until you reach Solitude even if you slay a dragon a day."

* * *

Serana watched Sithia adjust her new swords, sheathed side by side on her right hip. Her gaze inevitably slipped to linger on Sithia's curvy backside before she managed to drag her eyes up to head level. Her fingers itched with the urge to pull that damn cowl down. It was something she increasingly suffered from whenever she saw it. She needed a distraction or she really would try to steal it.

"Do you want me to go back to the dragon and collect what I can?"

"Not yet. It's just as well you dropped what you had, as it would've drawn the wrong sort of attention for you to be carrying so much more than any mortal should manage. We should go before talking to the ferryman to get as much as I'd be able to carry, which shouldn't raise eyebrows. I should've thought of that earlier. Sorry."

"Stupid Dragonborn," Serana breathed. Fortunately Sithia didn't hear her, or chose to ignore it. Serana suspected it was the former, as Sithia's gaze was fixed on the inn ahead.

* * *

"Welcome to the Windpeak Inn, Dragonborn. Karita, play something in her honour while I finish getting the food ready."

The pretty young redhead in revealing clothing – the innkeeper's daughter judging by their scents – started to tap out a rhythm on her drums. Almost in time with Sithia's heartbeat, come to think of it.

"Our hero, our hero, claims a warrior's heart.  
I tell you, I tell you, the Dragonborn comes.  
With a Voice wielding power of the ancient Nord art.  
Believe, believe, the Dragonborn comes."

As the song continued, everyone in the town seemed to come out of the woodwork, clapping, cheering and singing along. Sithia sat down at the closest bench. Her head met the wood with a quiet _thunk_, and she groaned. No one else seemed to notice, all eyes on the bard. Serana sat down next to her and patted her on the back. Poor Dragonborn. If all of Skyrim knew this song, no wonder everyone forgot her name.

"It's an end to the evil, of all Skyrim's foes.  
Beware, beware, the Dragonborn comes.  
For the darkness has passed, and the legend yet grows.  
You'll know, You'll know the Dragonborn's come."

Serana was humming along by the end of it. It _was_ a catchy tune. Sithia sat up and gave her a filthy look. It was impressive that a mortal actually heard a hum despite that racket.

The innkeeper returned bearing a two bowls of stew balanced on one arm, and two bottles of mead clutched in the other hand.

"Thanks, but keep that mead for yourself. Got any milk?"

There was a moment of shocked silence. Serana could almost hear their jaws dropping. Towards the back of the crowd, someone muttered: "The Dragonborn, a milk-drinker?" He yelped as someone elbowed or kicked him. Or both, there were at least two impacts Serana heard.

"I… Yes, Dragonborn. One moment."

The bemused innkeeper set down a jug of milk. "You don't care for mead?"

"I avoid all alcohol after an incident with drugged wine. Milk is far more difficult to taint." Sithia tugged her mask down and tucked in. Serana joined her, wishing that it was blood she was swallowing.

"Maybe milk would actually help us… You see, we all suffer from nightmares every night. The same nightmare. But don't worry, you'll both be fine. Travellers don't seem to get them." That explained why everyone looked so tired, dark shadows under their bloodshot eyes. It also might explain the Jarl's attitude, but Serana suspected that might be giving him too much credit.

"I have plenty of my own," Sithia murmured. Serana looked sharply at her. If Sithia had regular nightmares, she must be overdue for one, as she hadn't had one on the road to Dawnstar. What memories could haunt her dreams? She wanted to ask, but Sithia had spoken quietly enough that she hadn't intended it to be heard.

"Excuse me, Dragonborn." An old woman sat down on the other side of Sithia.

"What is it?"

"My name is Frida. I'm the apothecary. I'd like to pay you as much as I can spare for the remains of that dragon." She set down five bulging coin purses. "Five hundred gold for the head of that dragon."

"Deal." Sithia scooped the coin purses into her knapsack. "Will you need help to collect the skull?"

"Don't worry about me, I can rope my customers into helping me. Especially the ones who want their special tonic to keep coming. Powdered dragon bone should give it quite the kick."

Serana snorted and glanced around the crowd still filling the inn. Every man present was trying not to look interested in what the apothecary had just said.

_'Wait. By the blood, what is that?'_ Serana stared. It was an elf, but like no elf she'd ever seen, dressed in hooded robes. His skin was as grey as an Altmer's was gold, and his eyes were blood red.

"Sithia, what is that elf?" she hissed, for Sithia's ears alone. She couldn't risk attracting any more attention. It was probably already obvious that she'd never seen an elf like that before.

Sithia turned to look. "A Dark Elf. Dunmer, as they prefer. They were once the Chimer. I hear they were cursed into looking like that by Azura. Something about betraying and murdering her favourite champion."

Well, that was an object lesson in why it was a pretty bad idea to anger a Daedric Prince, even one who wasn't considered particularly malevolent.

"Looks like he's a priest. I'd better have a quiet word with him about you know what."

Serana stayed where she was while Sithia wandered over to the Dunmer. She could bear the presence of priests when they were away from their temples or shrines, but he might well realise what she was and what she carried, hidden under Sithia's cloak.

"My daughter, what can this humble priest of Mara do for you?" The Dunmer had a gravelly voice. Had Azura cursed that too?

"Just a blessing. With all the dragons I come across, my restoration skills need every boost I can get."

The Dunmer laid a grey skinned hand on Sithia's head. "Mara bless you, child." Serana flinched as the priest bestowed his Divine's blessing, purging the vampiric infection from Sithia. That was almost as bad as being too close to a shrine. At least the burning sensation faded away with the warm golden light.

As Sithia turned away, the priest opened his mouth. He closed it again, grimacing. He muttered to himself, too quietly for anyone else to catch except Serana: "No, that would be wrong. She's already given enough to the people of Dawnstar. I cannot ask that of her. Not now. After she's rested, maybe."

She'd have to make sure they left before this Dunmer could corner Sithia in the morning. Whatever he wanted to ask, it would be something that would delay their journey. Whatever it was would have to wait. It couldn't be that urgent or he'd ask Sithia right now.

"Ladies, the washbasins are ready. Those rooms are yours for the rest of the day, and for the night." He pointed at the adjoining doorways across the hall. They lacked doors, but seemed to have curtains for what passed for privacy here.

"Thank you." Sithia turned to her, adding, "See you in a while." With that Sithia went into the room on the right, drawing the curtain behind her. As soon as those enchanted boots were off, Serana could hear the rest of that leather armour being removed and dropped to the floor. Then the splash of water.

Serana's mouth went dry – well, drier – imagining that lithe body naked and wet. Right. Time to subject Sithia to this tension. At least there was no need to remain out here to make sure no one peeked – with so many people around, including a priest, they wouldn't dare.

"Thank you," Serana said to the innkeeper, speaking loudly enough that Sithia should overhear. "If there's one drawback to my garments, it's that the dust of travel gets in places I'd rather it didn't."

The innkeeper's eyes dropped down to her exposed cleavage. He couldn't help himself, poor man. "You're welcome," he choked, his cheeks redder than his hair.

She walked into the room on the left, a satisfied smile curving her lips at the sudden silence from the room on the other side of the dividing wall. Silence except for unsteady breathing and a heart beating a little faster than normal. It was tempting to climb up that timber wall to peek over the top of it, but it'd be far more satisfying to get that delectable morsel to reveal herself of her own free will. Soon. Not now, but soon.

* * *

Spending the rest of the day reading about this most recent Oblivion Crisis was interesting, but the proximity to Sithia was distracting. Especially when Serana's eyes kept being drawn to those tantalising glimpses of silvery white scars disappearing under Sithia's shirt. She hadn't put her armour back on after washing off the dust and dirt of travel, instead dressing in casual clothes. That damn cowl was finally removed for more than just a few minutes!

Her armour was still within reach though, kept very close at hand as Sithia was making some small repairs to it, stitching together small cuts and tears with enchanted thread. Just as tough as the leather with a matching enchantment, Sithia had told her.

"Not stronger?"

"No, or the leather would split instead, which wouldn't exactly be ideal for armour."

Part of the problem with the book was that it included the fact that the Third Era had lasted over four hundred years, and that they were now in the Fourth Era. That made her wonder how long the rest of the First Era had lasted, and the entire Second Era. Just how much had she missed? She'd slept for centuries if not millennia.

It was also worrying to read about the fate of the last Dragonborns before Sithia – they all suffered violent deaths, and the last three not including this heroic Martin were assassinated. Was that Sithia's fate?

"Sithia?"

"Hmm?" Sithia glanced up at her. "What?"

"You said it had been two hundred years since all this happened?" Serana tapped the book.

"Something like that. It's about the two hundredth year of the Fourth Era. Maybe the two hundred and first. Or second, by now. Don't ask what month or day of the week it is. I don't know for sure, and I don't care."

"How can you not care? What about your birthday?"

"I don't know the day, just that it was sometime during Evening Star."

"The Thief?" Serana hoped she'd managed to mask what she was really feeling, that she sounded surprised rather than hurt.

"Yes, what of it?"

"I…" Damn it. Those born under the Thief were luckier than others, but that luck eventually ran out. Sithia was already in her prime, and a Thief tended to die young. She really, really didn't like the thought of Sithia's death, especially not when it might be all too soon. "I'm technically a Thief too, it's when I became a vampire." Molag Bal's Summoning Day being what it was…

She really needed a distraction from these disturbing thoughts. Serana let the book fall shut, a finger keeping her place. "What was this incident you mentioned with the drugged wine?"

"Ever woken up naked in the dark, dank hold of a slaving ship bound for Black Marsh? I don't recommend it." Sithia paused, rethreading her needle. She smirked "That Argonian gang certainly wouldn't, if any had lived to tell the tale."

"When was this?"

"Let me think…" It took a few stitches for her to answer. "About fifteen years ago, now."

"Fifteen… You were fifteen? A little young to be drinking, weren't you? Whatever did your mother say?"

Sithia's lips thinned. "Nothing."

"She didn't find out?"

"Didn't know or didn't care. Pick one," she spat bitterly. "I suspect she didn't care. She's the reason I have no idea what day I was born on. Rasha was furious, though."

"Rasha?" She'd mentioned that name once before, back in Dimhollow.

"The Khajiit who raised me. Closest thing I had to a father figure."

"At least you know he cares, then."

Sithia's finger slipped. She hissed and yanked the needle out of her finger.

Serana's eyes flicked between the bloodied needle and the tiny wound. She licked her lips. So very tempting to ask if she could have another little taste of that delicious blood…

Sithia sucked her finger into her mouth. Serana whimpered. To be that finger… Wait. What? No, to have that bloodied finger between her own lips.

A flicker of healing magic later, and the wound was gone by the time Sithia's finger slipped from her lips.

"Let's leave the past in the past for now, shall we?"

Serana nodded, suppressing the urge to ask after this Khajiit and Sithia's apparently uncaring mother. She could understand not wanting to talk about things. She just hoped those things Sithia would rather not talk about weren't as mentally scarring as her own.

* * *

That night, in their separate rooms, Serana could hear Sithia sleeping, her heartbeat steady and breathing slow. Then her heart was suddenly racing, her breathing ragged, and Serana could hear her tossing and turning. Nightmare?

"No…" Sithia cried out, her voice strangled with fear and rage, and slurred with sleep. "Mother, don't—No! NIID!" Her lapse into Dovahzul was accompanied by her Thu'um. Serana could hear startled voices. The last thing Sithia would want was to wake up to fearful and gawping idiots.

Serana jumped up, catching hold of the top of the dividing wall. She hauled herself up and dropped down the other side. Time to wake up her Dragonborn before anyone else could intrude.

All things considered, it was just as well that she did, because Sithia reacted badly.

One moment her hand was gently shaking Sithia's shoulder, the next she was on the floor, seeing stars from the sudden jarring impact. Sithia straddled her, eyes wild. Her dagger glanced off the silver collar. Serana hissed as the blade cut into the flesh under her jaw, drawing blood.

Sithia froze, eyes wide, face a mask of horror in the flickering candlelight. She pulled the dagger away, dropped it, and brought her shaking hands down, golden light spilling from them. It wouldn't take, curving away from Serana's deathly pale skin.

"Serana—"

"It's fine." Her ancient blood kicked in with the blessing of the night, sealing the wound and leaving her skin unmarked.

"Void take me, I'm so sorry."

"Are you all right?"

Sithia shook her head. "I think I'm the one who should be asking that." She scrambled off Serana and perched on the edge of her bed.

Serana took the offered hand and pulled herself up to sit next to her, close enough for their thighs to touch. "It's fine, really. I should've thought to make sure your dagger was out of reach." A flick of her fingers and a touch of magic called said dagger to her hand. She eyed the blood coating the Ebony. Her own blood. "I've tasted yours. Care to taste mine? If you've ever tasted a Daedra heart, my blood has a similar kick to it, except even more so."

"I'm not a vampire," Sithia snapped. Yet despite the vehement denial, she didn't take her eyes off her bloodied dagger. Oh yes, she'd definitely tasted Daedric flesh, or she wouldn't look quite so hungry and wary at the same time. If those hearts weren't so expensive and rare, they'd be a far bigger problem than skooma.

"No, but you _are_ curious. Aren't you?"

Sithia raised her eyes to meet Serana's gaze. She took her dagger back and rammed it into the furs covering the bed. When she yanked it back out, the blade was wiped clean. She set the dagger down on the bedside table and looked back at Serana, her lips set in a grim line. "If I did everything I wanted to, Tamriel would be in peril."

Serana fingered the blood left on her skin under her jaw, tilting her head to expose it to Sithia. "Sure I can't tempt you?"

A sound not unlike a whimper escaped Sithia.

Serana took pity on her and crossed over to the washbasin to remove the temptation.

Sithia sighed. Was that in relief or disappointment? Tempting as it was to ask, Serana had toyed with her pet Dragonborn enough for the night.

"Sleep. Unless you want to talk about whatever your nightmare was?" Maybe this way she'd find out a little more about Sithia's past…

Sithia shuddered. "No." She swung her legs up onto the bed and lay back. She reached for the furs kicked to the bottom of the bed. Serana beat her to them and threw them over her. "Thanks."

Well, so much for learning more about her Dragonborn. Another time. The amount Sithia had already opened up to her was promising.

Awkward silence descended, not remotely alleviated by Sithia's rapid heartbeats.

"Do you want me to leave?"

No response, not even eye contact. Damn it. She'd embarrassed Sithia too much. Serana looked up the dividing wall. She'd better go back over it, or she might attract unwanted attention.

Sithia's hand caught her wrist. "No. You can stay. Provided that chair is comfy enough for you, that is."

Serana swallowed the urge to say something about the bed looking far cosier. That would be coming on far too strongly for the poor mortal. She sat down and blew out the candle.

"…Have I mentioned how weird it is that your eyes glow in the dark?"

Serana took the hint and closed her eyes. "Go to sleep, Sithia."

* * *

The ferryman was every bit as stubborn as the blacksmith had warned.

"The island with the ruined castle? Don't you know that place is cursed? I'll take you as far as I can, but I'm not hanging around and it'll cost you extra. Five hundred gold."

Serana leaned close to speak to Sithia alone. "I could, you know…"

"Enthral him?" Sithia muttered back. "Tempting, but no. We are asking him to go out of his way, and to a place that quite rightly terrifies him." She turned back to the ferryman. "Three hundred gold."

"Four hundred, and that's my last offer, and only because you killed that dragon."

"Deal." Sithia handed him four of the bulging coin purses.

The ferryman's stubbornness didn't end there. He refused Serana's offer to enchant the oars. "No magic on my boat! 'Sides, got to earn my gold. You can row while I sleep if you're in such a rush that you don't want to stop overnight, but no magic!"

They rowed non-stop. Serana ignored the ferryman and enchanted the oars whenever he slept. What he didn't know wouldn't hurt him…

Sithia tried to stay awake at night to keep her company, but inevitably ended up snoring in the bottom of the boat, her head cushioned on Serana's lap. A blood oath had never been more tested. Serana tried to take the edge off the temptation by feeding from the ferryman in his sleep, but it only made her long all the more for the source of richest blood right next to her. Right on her lap, when Sithia was sleeping too.

Sithia only had a nightmare once, and Serana woke her up as soon as her heart started racing. If she ended up Shouting in her sleep, she might have broken a hole in the hull or capsized them. A dip in the Sea of Ghosts wouldn't have hurt Serana, but it might have endangered the ferryman, with only a Nord's resistance to cold, and certainly would not have been good for Sithia, even with her armour at least as resistant as the ferryman's skin – it couldn't help her if freezing cold water got between her and the enchanted leather, after all.

It was a relief and a disappointment when they reached their destination five days later – there would be no reason for Sithia to use her as a pillow now. The uncharacteristically fine weather held, with no delays from storms, nor any snow, nor even rain. Just as well, as there was no cabin on the small boat.

The ferryman started rowing away the moment their feet touched the muddy shore. He'd either been holding back, or he could row a lot faster with the boat unladen, because he soon disappeared into the mist.

The jetty her father had ordered built was still around, but half of it had fallen into the sea, and the remainder was rotting. The rowboat moored beside it was in better shape, fortunately. Serana started off rowing, then persuaded the oars to continue by themselves. They glowed purple, and would remain so until the spell ended. Back in the ferryman's boat, she'd kept a careful ear open for the telltale signs of him waking up so she could end the spell, leaving him blissfully unaware.

After an hour the enchantment started to fade, but by then the castle was looming out of the mist, and the shore of the island was within sight.

"You didn't mention the part where you live in a castle, Princess."

Serana winced and turned to look at Sithia. Her attempt at a glare was probably far too plaintive. "Please don't call me that. I don't care to be called 'Lady Serana' either. 'Princess' is even worse."

"All right… Princess." Sithia was smirking. Serana didn't need to see her mouth to know. "Seriously, Serana, you could have mentioned the castle when you said not all vampires are cave dwellers."

"I know, I just didn't want you to think I was some damsel in distress. Bad enough that I had to be freed without seeming that privileged and helpless."

"Don't worry, helpless is one thing you're not. You needed a guide, not a protector, except from that first dragon and sometimes yourself, stupid vampire. Besides, if you really did belong in a story like that, you'd have needed kissing to wake you up." Sithia's gaze dropped down to her lips.

Serana smiled. Irresistible. "I'd definitely have preferred that to waking up at swordpoint. I don't suppose we can start over?"

Sithia's eyes widened. She briefly lifted her eyes to meet Serana's before looking away, like a deer with a hunter. What little skin was visible was flushing. "…You just want me to take my cowl off."

"Foiled," Serana muttered. She'd get that kiss. Soon. Then she'd easily get that willing meal. Just a little persuasion, and Sithia would be begging her to feed.

The boat ran aground, the oars shuddering as the spell faded.

"Well, here we are. Home sweet… castle." Serana tied the boat to the jetty under the shadow of the watchtower. The harsh cries of bone hawks split the oppressively still air. She looked up the bridge stretching up to the castle and started walking towards it. Hopefully her mother was home, but if she was, she'd be so furious to see Serana when she clearly didn't think the situation was resolved. If her father was there instead… Well. She'd find out if he'd missed her at all, if he'd realised what his obsession had cost him. If he regretted it. If he wanted his family back. If—

Sithia slipped ahead of her and stood in her way, arms folded, eyes cold and hard. "Before we head up there, let's hear it. What's the deal with you and your Scroll?"

* * *

AN: Sithia is not going to be a happy Dragonborn when she hears what Serana has to say, is she?

Coming up next: the truth about the Elder Scroll and her father's obsession. Provided Sithia doesn't object violently, try to kill her and take the Scroll, or knock her out and row them both back to Skyrim, Serana will get to see her father at last.


	5. Chapter 4: Prophecy, Insanity, Stupidity

**Chapter 4: Prophecy, Insanity and Stupidity**

_'Damn it.'_ Serana was so close, the castle just a few hundred paces away. Yet so far… Sithia would never let her go up there once she knew. She might even object violently. But after everything she'd done, she deserved the truth. Maybe the truth could wait a little longer, though.

"I'm not home quite yet—"

"Close enough. Whoever is home, they're not going to want you to be spilling secrets to a stranger. Not if they have any sense." So much for persuading her to let the truth wait.

Sithia took her arm and led her towards the watchtower. "Let's get out of this." Snow was steadily falling as it nearly always did this far north.

Sithia perched on the lowest step spiralling up into the higher levels of the watchtower. She tugged Serana down to sit next to her. She reached over to grip Serana's hand, the enchanted leather gauntlet thrumming against her skin, and squeezed her hand until Serana met her gaze.

"If you want me to trust you, you'd better start talking. Tell me what's going on."

"I won't know until I get inside—"

"Then you can tell me what you know, starting with why your mother locked you away with that Scroll."

Serana looked away. This was not going to end well. The promising friendship that had been blossoming with Sithia was doomed. If by some miracle it wasn't, she would still fall in Sithia's esteem. Damn it! It'd be so much harder to seduce her after this.

Sithia squeezed her hand again. "Trust me. I can help you."

Serana's shoulders slumped. "All right. You've helped me this far. And I do need all the help I can get. It all started when my father came across a prophecy a Moth Priest had recorded from an Elder Scroll. This Scroll."

Sithia's hand slipped away. She'd probably never want to touch her again after this.

"And this prophecy is?"

"The Tyranny of the Sun. Something about vampires not needing to fear the sun anymore by controlling it. If my father can do that, he'll take over the world."

"And how would he do that?"

Serana shrugged. "I don't know. It was only a fragment of the prophecy he found. He needs this Scroll to be read by someone who won't go mad in the process so he can find out what he needs to do. Anyway, my mother and I didn't feel like inviting a war with everyone in Tamriel who'd object to eternal darkness falling. After she fell out with my father trying to get him to see sense, she had me sealed away with it."

Serana held her breath and braced herself for Sithia's reaction. She fearfully raised her eyes to look again at her mortal.

Head propped up on her hands, elbows on her knees, Sithia stared blankly at her.

"Say something!"

Sithia slowly shook her head. "…I'm just trying to understand how in Oblivion you thought this was a good idea."

Serana cringed.

"What were you thinking?" Sithia got to her feet and paced back and forth. "Bringing that here, when it's almost certainly your crazy father in there." She gestured in the direction of the castle, then jabbed a finger at Serana. "When that Scroll is what he needs to bring about this insane prophecy, if he's found a means to safely read it without going crazier."

"He might not be there—"

"If your mother's home, she'd have come for you if the situation had been resolved. Wouldn't she?"

"She…" Serana swallowed, a heavy lump in her throat. "She might have died stopping him."

Sithia stopped dead and frowned down at her. "A falling out, you said. You didn't mention he'd want to kill her."

"What can I say? He's not a good person, even by vampire standards."

"I'm sorry. Hopefully your father hasn't killed her for taking you and his precious Scroll away from him." Sithia shoved her cowl down and ran a hand through her hair. "But do this, and you're almost certainly giving him what he wants when your mother did so much to keep it from him. This is the stupidest idea I've ever heard."

"I know, I know, I just… Even if he is the one here, I need to know if there's any chance he's changed. If absence has made the heart grow fonder, if he's realised what his obsession cost him."

"I can understand that, but is it worth the risk of letting him blot out the sun?"

"I… No." Serana lowered her head, eyes on the ground, grateful that her cheeks couldn't flush with the shame burning in her blood. She felt so selfish for even thinking of it, let alone coming this close to trying. Especially after all her mother's efforts to keep the Scroll safely away from her father.

Sithia put a hand on her shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze. "Hey, we could still find out. We leave the Scroll down here just in case it's daddy dear." She looked around, presumably for a hiding place.

"He's not going to believe my mother left me without it."

Sithia brought her other hand down, and she shook Serana slightly. "Tell him she took it with her!" That was very much exasperated mortal.

"He won't believe it. He knows she'd never risk keeping both Scrolls in one place."

Sithia fingers dug into her as her grip tightened. "Wait, what? Both Scrolls?"

"Oh, I forgot to mention that part. Sorry. The prophecy is contained in at least two Scrolls, which my father managed to get his hands on. Mother thought he was getting far too close to his goal when he found that second Scroll, so she fled with both of them, leaving one with me in Dimhollow. It's why he'll kill her if he finds her. If he found her." _'Please be safe, Mother.'_

"So you might be taking him the last thing he needs to plunge us all into darkness and all out war." Sithia let go of her, and dragged a hand down her face. She looked down at her wearily. "Tell him she didn't trust you with it. Tell him anything, just don't bring him the Scroll."

"He won't—"

"Serana. I'll be there with you. I'll help convince him."

"Fine. I'm not happy about this; leaving an Elder Scroll lying around is asking for trouble."

Sithia snorted. "Maybe, but taking it up there is worse if the crazy lord of the castle is at home."

"I know. Unless he really has changed, he _is_ crazy. I just wish he hadn't driven my mother crazy with him and pushed us all apart." Serana knocked on the steps, hoping that there was a space inside just right for hiding an Elder Scroll. But no, they were solid rock. "Any idea where to put it?"

Sithia looked out of the narrow slit serving as a window. "I do indeed. How about in the boat, in my knapsack?"

"All right. I guess that would be best, just in case we have to escape in a hurry."

* * *

That damn masked cowl was pulled back up the moment they emerged from the watchtower.

"Must you?"

"This again?" Sithia rolled her eyes. "Yes, I do need my cowl on."

"At least leave the mask off. Guessing what your expression is with only your eyes to go by? It gets old fast."

"I'll do that when you don't don your hood."

"That's not the same, I need it with the sun."

"Right. Which explains that." Sithia gestured at her exposed cleavage.

Serana crossed her arms. If she wasn't so annoyed, she'd be amused by the way Sithia's eyes were drawn down when the pressure of her arms on her cuirass exposed a little more of her cleavage. Despite her frustration, it was always satisfying to watch Sithia flush and look away, although it only added to her disappointment that she could see so little of her face. What was the point in making her blush when she couldn't properly enjoy it?

"I'll admit it stings a bit, but it's my head I really need to keep covered."

"Then why don't you adjust your cloak, or wear something else?"

"Because it distracts me a bit from my thirst." That and revealing or not, it was the only thing that remained intact whenever she had to resort to her other form. She'd learned that the hard way. "I need my hood. Do you really need that mask?"

"In this perpetual winter? Yes, I fucking do."

"Fuck you and your damn cowl," Serana muttered, too quietly for Sithia to hear. Her parents would be horrified by such foul language escaping her lips. Sithia was clearly a terrible influence, and one she very much hoped would stick around.

Serana pulled the strap over her head and hefted the cloak-wrapped Scroll in her arms. She shoved it inside Sithia's pack and set it down in the boat, which rocked in the water with the sudden increase in weight. "By the way, why didn't you have me put it in your pack before we reached Dawnstar?"

"Because I wouldn't be able to move, not without ditching some of the junk in my pack. And that junk is treasure to me."

"You stupid Dra—" Serana swallowed the rest of that word when Sithia inhaled sharply, hurt flickering in her eyes. "You stupid… Sithia. I'm sorry. I do know better than to call you by what you are."

"I know. It just… It hurts sometimes." Sithia looked away to glare up at the castle. "So, how am I stupid?"

"I could have carried your pack. I'm not limited by weight, which you must have known when you got me to carry all of those dragon bones and scales."

"Okay, so that was pretty stupid, but it was also stupid not to suggest putting everything in my enchanted knapsack and volunteering to carry it!"

"Yes, all right, can we agree that we're both equally stupid and—"

"Fuck!"

Serana stared. Had Sithia really just propositioned her, if extremely crudely?

"Is your father a mage?"

Apparently not. Or was she worried her father would find out through some obscure spell what they'd been up to? Well, he would know, as would every vampire in there, but not through magic. While vampiric sense of smell wasn't as powerful as lycanthropic, it was more than good enough to tell if scents were mingling. And of course make a pretty good guess as to why.

But if she was wrong about Sithia's intentions, she'd probably mortify them both if she assumed too much. "I doubt it's how he thinks of himself, but he can use a few spells. Mostly alteration and conjuration. Unless he's bothered to learn more in my absence. Why?"

"Because I can still feel the Scroll on you, and I don't think of myself as a mage either. That indescribable aura has rubbed off on you."

Oh. Fuck indeed, just not the fun sort. "Then we'll have to risk it." Serana tugged the Scroll out of Sithia's knapsack, unwrapped it and slung it across her back again.

"Or we could be sensible for once and get out of here."

Serana looked up at the castle and back at Sithia. Pleadingly.

"Oh, all right. Let's get this over with. If he manages to blot the sun out because of this, 'I told you so' is the least you deserve."

'Stupid vampire' was left unsaid, but Serana heard it as clearly as if it had been shouted. Much to her annoyance, she couldn't really argue with that. Her mother would be furious. But she wasn't here, and Serana had to know if there was any chance they could be a family again.

As they started walking up the bridge, Sithia hissed, "This is insane. Remind me why I'm not killing you and taking that Scroll far away from here."

"Because you like me too much?"

Sithia sighed explosively. "Apparently." She warily tapped one of the gargoyles guarding the bridge. It stayed dormant. If Sithia's sword was drawn, it would have been a different story.

"This isn't going to get me drained dry or worse, enthralled, is it?"

"Not if I have anything to do with it. But presuming he's there, my father will want to reward you. If by some miracle it's my mother instead, she'll be too busy expressing her disappointment with me."

"What sort of reward will your father have in mind?"

"Not my hand in marriage, that's for sure."

Sithia choked and punched her arm. Hard enough that she noticed, not hard enough that it really hurt.

Serana laughed, and sobered as she thought about what he might do. "Knowing him, he'll offer to turn you."

"Would he kill me if I refused his generous offer?"

"No, he'd just banish you. If you suddenly want to be a vampire, say so now, as it'd be a lot safer for you if I do it. Not many mortals survived my father's attempts. I doubt he's learned to be gentle in his old age."

Serana was ambushed by mixed feelings at the thought of Sithia asking to be turned. As a vampire, Sithia's blood wouldn't be the same, but Serana's own blood in her fledgling mingled with the dovah sos? That would still be an intoxicating mix. It would also mean Sithia would potentially live forever, just like her. Mortality wouldn't part them…

"Thanks, but I have enough issues with self control without adding bloodlust to that." Well, that was disappointing, but hardly surprising. A vampire hunter, even a part-time one, wouldn't want to become what she hunted.

The portcullis was down, blocking the entrance to the castle.

The thrall serving as the gatekeeper struck the studded wooden barrier with his axe. "You're not welcome—Lady Serana?" He staggered back, his heart stuttering. He looked up to the murder hole above and cupped his hands over his mouth. "Open the gate, Lady Serana is back!"

The portcullis shuddered and slowly rose up into the slot high above.

The gatekeeper stepped aside and bowed deeply. "Welcome home, milady."

Sithia coughed, poorly masking a word: "Princess."

Serana rolled her eyes and stifled a smile. Sithia's irreverence was exactly what she needed now, really. She pulled the door open. It creaked, something her mother would never have allowed. Her father was definitely home, then. With the door open, she could smell him too, with no trace of her mother. His scent was similar to her mother's in potency, but not quite as pure. For all that he boasted of his ancient blood, he was technically a half-blood, if one blessed by Molag Bal to have powers even greater than a Daughter of Coldharbour.

Maybe the difference in his blood was part of the why things started to fall apart with her parents. Her mother had to have been able to feel it, the constant whisper in her blood that she was superior to him. If her father had felt that through their bond, he must have hated that and grown to hate her mother too.

They stepped inside, the door creaking shut behind them. One of her father's lackeys, an Altmer of all things, stormed up to them. "How dare you… trespass… here…" He stared at Serana, eyes flicking between her face and the Scroll jutting over her shoulder. "Serana? Is that truly you?" He didn't wait for an answer, instead hurrying into the great hall, leaning over the banister, crying, "My lord! Everyone! Serana has returned!"

Serana raised an eyebrow. Going by his scent, her father had actually been the one to turn him. Since when had her father allowed an Altmer to receive his gift? Anyone taller than him had always been fed to the death hounds. Maybe her father really had changed…

She followed the Altmer onto the balcony overlooking the great hall, pausing there while he went down into the hall itself. Sithia's footsteps behind her were silent, but her heartbeat was reassuringly close.

Her father's court stared up at her, all exclaiming in wonder at her return and at the sight of the Scroll. Well, all of them apart from two gorging themselves on groaning cattle laid out on the tables. One of the hapless mortals gurgled and fell slack. The vampire, a Redguard, pulled away and beckoned for a replacement. He finally looked up when one failed to arrive and joined his kin in gaping at her. The other feeding vampire carried on regardless. That close to a bleeding mortal, Serana couldn't even tell whether it was male or female, only that it was not an elf, as there were no pointed ears to be seen.

There were a lot of unfamiliar faces. They had all been Nords the last time she was here. Now there was that Altmer, two of those cursed Dunmer, and a Bosmer. She could smell the ancient blood in all of them, only strong enough in a few to have been turned by her father. Those few included the elves, except for the one clutching the broom. She couldn't smell her mother's blood in any of the court – having been turned by her must have been a death sentence, as her father would have purged the court of anyone connected with her mother after she fled.

None of her own fledglings were there, but that was hardly surprising. Unlike her mother, she'd never been interested in ruling over the court. That meant those she'd turned had no interest in hanging around for the petty infighting, especially as their loyalty was to her, not her father. Presuming her father hadn't killed them as he had her mother's fledglings. She hoped not, they deserved better than that.

Her father was conspicuous by his absence, his throne empty. The Altmer took a seat on the high table, next to a bearded Nord who glowered at the elf. Rival advisors of her father, then.

She finally caught sight of her father, in the family portrait behind the high table. He'd repainted it to leave out her mother, changing the composition. Wait… Serana's breath caught. She was depicted standing on her father's right. The place that had always been reserved for the son he'd never had. Maybe he really had realised what he'd lost.

A movement caught her eye on the opposite balcony, as her father strode into view. She hoped he might pause and exchange a longing glance with her, but no. He didn't even look at her.

By the time she descended into the hall her father stood before the dais, arms spread in welcome. "My long-lost daughter returns at last."

His eyes immediately slipped from her face to linger hungrily on the top of the Scroll poking over her shoulder. With that her hope that he'd changed back into the father she loved died a painful death. His next words twisted the knife further. "I trust you have my Elder Scroll?"

His commanding voice echoed in the silent hall, his court holding their breath and all eyes on the _touching_ reunion before them. Serana grit her teeth and closed the distance to stand just out of her father's reach. If by some miracle he decided to embrace her, he'd have to put some more effort into it.

Sithia stepped forward beside her, shoulder deliberately brushing against hers in silent support. "No, she's just carrying a replica around. I trust you have eyes? Why ask the question when you already know the answer? Or is that really the only thing you can think of the first time you've seen your daughter in centuries?"

Her father's lips thinned. He glared down at Sithia. "Of course I'm delighted to see my daughter. I do not need to say the words aloud, mortal. If her traitor mother were here, I would even let her watch this reunion before putting her head on a spike."

Serana flinched, and Sithia stiffened. "And I thought I had parental issues," she muttered.

Her father looked back at Serana. "Who is this stranger you have brought into our midst?" He shot a disapproving glance at Sithia. If she didn't give him the reason to be grateful to her latest pet, he might take exception and break the laws of hospitality. Not that he ever really followed them.

"My saviour who freed me, Sithia." Serana turned to Sithia and gestured at her father. "Harkon, my father."

"Lord of this court," he added, irritation colouring his voice for a moment. He'd always hated it whenever she forgot to mention his precious title to anyone she introduced to him.

He smiled at Sithia, his eyes cold. "Then I have you to thank for the return of my Scroll. And my daughter."

Serana flinched. Damn it… She really was an afterthought to him.

"Reveal yourself. I wish to behold the face of such a worthy mortal."

Sithia hesitated, but fortunately didn't try her father's lack of patience. She pulled both mask and cowl down.

Her father inclined his head in what passed for a bow from him. "Charmed. Now, your reward for returning my most valuable possession to me. And Serana, of course."

Yet again, an afterthought. _'Father, please, give me a sign that you care. That you missed me.'_

"Why is this Elder Scroll so important to you?"

Her father stroked his beard, eyeing Sithia thoughtfully. "Ordinarily I would not reveal this to an outsider, and especially not a mortal. But you deserve to know the truth for the service you have done me. Consider it part of your reward."

He started to pace up and down, his cloak spreading like wings behind him with every turn.

"I was once a mighty king. My realm was vast, my power over my subjects absolute, but still death threatened to claim me as I grew older and fell ill. The Lord Molag Bal granted me immortality, and my wife and daughter, as his most faithful and powerful followers." He puffed out his chest. He was ridiculously proud of such a degrading ritual, but then he never mentioned that part to anyone. Probably not even himself. Maybe he thought he'd forget it if he ignored it. Serana doubted that worked any better for him than it did for her. The touch of Molag Bal was not something that could be forgotten. Ever.

"But immortality was not enough, for the sun restricts us just as it does our thinner blooded kin. We do not burn, but we are weakened. I searched long and hard for a way to end the tyranny of the sun, and eventually came across a prophecy. The secret to fulfilling it is contained in my Elder Scroll." He gestured at Serana. At her Scroll.

"A Scroll that my wife stole from me. She will pay dearly for that betrayal. But she has failed in her attempt to thwart my cause. Now that I have my Scroll back, all I need is a Moth Priest to read it, and then…" He stopped pacing and reached out to Sithia, who leaned away from him. "Eternal night will fall. This alarms you, mortal, but it need not. I offer you my blood. Take it and you will join us, rulers of the vampiric future that awaits."

Damn it. Even if he had missed her, his obsession still consumed him. Even more so, something she hadn't thought possible.

Nothing else for it now.

"Well, mortal? Sithia, what say you?"

"…You're insane."

"Explain," he snapped, folding his arms across his chest. His glowing orange eyes flashed brighter in his anger.

"Seriously? You don't see the problem?" Sithia pinched the bridge of her nose, exhaled slowly and looked steadily over at Serana's crazy father. "If you manage to put the sun out, you'll doom us all. Plants will die without the sun, animals will die without plants, and then man and mer die too. That leaves vampires to go bloodstarved and feral, presuming that man and mer don't kill you all first before they die."

"For those who lack the power, perhaps they will starve." Her father shrugged. "But Magelight will ensure our cattle survive. The other mortals are no match for us. Now, make your choice. Are you with us or against us?" He grinned, fangs unsheathed. "Perhaps I can convince you. Behold the power!"

Her father grunted, doubling over. Shadows covered him from head to toe, congealing and exploded in a shower of blood as he straightened up, transformed into his so-called true form.

_'More like behold the monstrosity.'_ Serana grimaced and looked away. It was truly ugly. She hated using it, how it made her look but most of all for the way it made her feel. She wished she never had to use it, but sometimes she had no choice. Maybe it felt different for her father. Why else would he love it as much as he seemed to? From his court's lack of reaction, they were used to seeing it.

Sithia staggered back, eyes wide. Judging by the accusing glare she shot at Serana, she would have appreciated a warning about that. "No thanks. I don't trust you not to turn me into a snack instead. That and becoming an overgrown bat-woman hybrid isn't on my to do list."

Her father bared his teeth, hissing with displeasure. "Then you are prey. I will spare your life this once, but you are banished."

"I'll show myself out." Sithia turned to leave.

"You dare turn your back on me?" Her father's ragged wings beat, lifting his clawed feet off the floor, sickly red light flickering under them.

Sithia didn't turn back, instead starting to walk away. "Am I supposed to say formal goodbyes on being banished? Kiss your boots – sorry, claws – for the privilege? Come on, Serana, let's go. Unless you want to stay with these lunatics?"

Serana winced. Damn it. Her father did not allow 'guests' who insulted him to leave under their own power.

Harkon growled and raised a hand, claws glowing purple.

_'I'm sorry, Sithia. You're about to suffer the worst hangover you've ever had, without the pleasure of drinking to earn it.'_ Worse, she couldn't even warn her. There wasn't time.

Too late, Sithia turned back. She must have sensed the magic building behind her.

"Begone!"

The moment the spell left her monstrous father's claws, Serana wrapped her arms around Sithia, letting the banishment portal drag her through Oblivion with her Dragonborn.

* * *

AN: So, was anyone expecting that? This does follow the Dawnguard questline, but with a few differences. That was one of them.

Coming up next: Harkon's displeasure makes itself known.


	6. Interlude: Like Mother, Like Daughter

**Interlude: Like Mother, Like Daughter**

The sickly purple glow engulfed the mortal, and temporarily concealed Serana as she made a futile attempt to keep her pet. If this Sithia was fortunate, she would emerge at the dock by the watchtower. If not, then she would suffer a slow death and for eternity in Coldharbour. She deserved such a fate for giving only insults when he offered immortality and power beyond measure.

His daughter would not be pleased, but she had to understand that no one was permitted to insult him without paying the price. That her pet left his hall alive was the most she could ask of him.

Now with that unpleasantness behind them, he would retire with his daughter to his chambers where he would greet her more fondly, away from the prying eyes of his court.

The orb of the portal faded away, taking the mortal with it.

_'No…'_

Not just the mortal. Serana. Gone.

Harkon dropped heavily to the floor, cracking the flagstones under his claws, eyes fixed on the empty space where his daughter had been.

Garan cautiously cleared his throat. "Perhaps two of the newer members of the court would like to escort Lady Serana back inside once she has said her goodbyes to her mortal saviour?"

"Allow me, my lord!" Stalf and Salonia chorused.

Harkon blinked and forced himself to focus. Any more delay would be seen as weakness. He looked at the volunteers, who were glaring at each other. The rivalry of their masters continued with them. It would have been amusing at any other time, but not now. Not with Serana slipping away from him with every moment that passed.

"Yes, yes, go." He ached to rush to the dock himself, to correct his mistake with the mortal and bring Serana back. But the lord of the castle did not do such things when he had servants to do his bidding.

Harkon forced himself to stand still, arms crossed and eyes closed. He must appear patient and calm. Dignified, above all else.

Stalf and Salonia would return soon with his daughter, maybe even with the mortal if Serana could not bear to be parted from her. She would be turned by force if necessary.

What was taking them so long? He forced himself to be still, to keep his claws from tapping out his impatience upon the floor.

Finally the gatekeeper hurried inside, his aged heart racing, bringing with him the bitter stench of fear. It was too much to hope for that it was only at beholding the true form of a vampire lord.

"Milord, I…"

Harkon clenched a fist, gripping the thrall telekinetically and lifting him off his feet. "Where is my daughter?"

He loosened his grip enough so that the pathetic mortal could speak.

"Gone," the gatekeeper sobbed.

"And those I sent to escort her?"

"Dead, milord. Impaled by ice, both of them."

Vingalmo and Orthjolf hissed at the news of their progeny's demise.

Harkon crushed the unfortunate gatekeeper's throat and drained him into a dry husk, the blood feeding his rising bloodlust. He let the body drop.

His daughter, _gone_. His Scroll, _gone_. Betrayed!

He spun, and hurled the high table off the dais, uncaring that it scattered the flesh of cattle and spilled goblets of blood everywhere.

His throne was next, the intricately carved gilded wood splintering against the flagstones.

He hissed at the sight of his portrait. Of Serana. Her mother's daughter after all. Valerica had taken her from him just as she had taken his Scrolls. Everything he treasured, lost.

"You are dead to me!" he roared, and lashed out with his claws. With that single blow, Serana was torn from his side, the portrait ruined. Just as his hopes and dreams of Serana's return had been ripped apart.

Worse than her mother, she had betrayed him for a mere mortal.

"I'll make you wish you had never been born, _my darling,"_ he snarled.

Harkon turned to his assembled court. Useless, every one of them, standing staring like _cattle_. "Get out! Find her and her mortal pet. Bring them to me, _alive_. Serana is not to be permanently damaged – that is _my_ right. Do what you will to her pet, so long as she remains alive, for she is to be brought here so that I may kill her while my daughter watches, helpless." His face contorted in what passed for a smile in his true form.

"If I find any of you within these walls without news before my traitor daughter is returned to me, I'll strip the flesh from your bones. Do not keep me waiting. _Go!"_

As one, his court fled like startled deer.

Harkon dissolved into a swarm of bats, all the myriad parts of him joined by the heat of his rage. He reformed seconds later in Serana's chambers. With another swipe of his claws, that once treasured painting and the headboard of the bed behind it exploded in a shower of splinters and scraps of canvas.

Her ridiculous potted plant at the foot of her bed was next, drained to a shrivelled, blackened husk.

His eyes roamed around for the next of Serana's belongings to bear the brunt of his fury. Blood red magic throbbed in his clawed hands. An equally red haze overtook his vision. When it cleared, he stood in his pathetic human-like form.

The doorway to Serana's room was before him, blocked by rubble, joining Valerica's in ruin. He staggered away, to his own chambers. Away from the reminders of his wife and daughter and their treachery.

He sank down into his second throne and watched the flames dance in the fireplace until they died, the firewood collapsing into ash. Just as his hopes had.

Detecting no other presence in his domain, he allowed his grief to consume him. Harkon fell forward onto his knees and wept bitter tears, the blood trickling down his gaunt cheeks.

"Serana…"

She would pay dearly for this betrayal, and Valerica even more so for poisoning his daughter against him. As for Serana's mortal pet, she was a dead woman walking.

Let them run. They could not hide from him. He would find them, and he would kill them. They would beg for death before the end, then their souls would serve Lord Molag Bal, suffering in Coldharbour.

* * *

AN: Harkon is very much not a happy vampire. It's probably not going to end well the next time he sees his darling daughter.

Coming up next: Serana and Sithia on the road to Fort Dawnguard.


	7. Chapter 5: Touching on Daedra and Aedra

**Chapter 5: Touching on Daedra and Aedra**

Serana felt the cold first, biting bone deep even through her twofold Nordic and vampiric immunity. Far above, the sky burned with fires matching her eyes. The castle around them stood in ruins. Screams of tortured souls split the air. Above all of that was the overpowering stench of Coldharbour, of rotting bodies followed by sweet flowers and then the rot again.

Sithia fell limp in her arms. Serana held on grimly. Some mortals banished like this got snatched away by the denizens of Coldharbour. She wouldn't let that happen to Sithia. She glared at an approaching Daedroth, who flinched away, lowering that elongated reptilian head in submission. Being a Daughter of Coldharbour here had its benefits, as the only thing that would dare threaten one with the resident Daedric Prince's blood in her veins was—

"Back for more, Serana? And what's this, an offering for me?"

Molag Bal Himself. Looming behind her, a dark shadow in her peripheral vision.

Serana couldn't move, not even to breathe. Sheer terror paralysed her. Just as well, as they might have been trapped in Oblivion if she'd moved at all. Her father's portal reformed just as those claws reached for her, running through her hair.

They collapsed onto the rocky ground by the jetty. Serana clutched at her head, whimpering.

That voice… It haunted her nightmares. Commanding her to scream. To beg Him to stop.

His touch… His claws rending her flesh, tearing her apart, His scales—

No. She didn't have time to fall apart, not now, not here. Serana forced herself to stop breathing, silencing those shuddering, half-sobbing gasping breaths. Her body still shivered from the chill of Coldharbour. She pushed herself up off the ground, picking Sithia back up, cradling her in her arms.

Serana stumbled over to the boat and stepped into it, almost falling overboard when it rocked in the water. She set Sithia down and fumbled with the oars. Her hands shook, and the splitting headache from passing through Coldharbour made it difficult to focus her magic. At least she wasn't as badly affected as Sithia seemed to be – a crumpled heap of groaning Dragonborn in the bottom of the boat.

Serana forced herself to move faster, gritting her teeth as her head throbbed with every slow beat of her heart. There wasn't much time, especially if her father thought to banish one of his lackeys.

Maybe she should have waited to slip away on her own, but this way she didn't need to steal the Scroll. Her father would probably have kept it with him at all times, even in his coffin. And there was the fact that Sithia might well not have made it out of Coldharbour with that Daedroth ready to grab her.

In the distance, the doors banged open, and two of her father's minions raced down the bridge. Serana concentrated, forcing past the pain until the oars glowed purple. She took her hands off them as they started rowing on their own. She raised her hands, frost coating her palms. A moment later both vampires collapsed, each with a shard of ice between the eyes.

Exhausted, Serana almost collapsed on top of Sithia, her vision blurred. When she looked up, for a moment she thought she was seeing things. But no, there really was another rowboat on the other side of the jetty. She forced herself to focus her magic again, gritting her teeth, the cold purple fire of conjuration dancing across her hands. It darted over to the other boat, surrounded it with a glowing purple sphere, then both portal and boat vanished. Hopefully it wouldn't land on Molag Bal in Coldharbour, or she really would be in deep trouble.

"What… what happened?"

Serana raised her eyebrows. Impressive. Sithia had only been out of it for a few minutes. In her experiments most mortals didn't wake for hours after banishment through Oblivion. She still felt guilty about the few that didn't make it out at all. At least they were cattle who were doomed to die soon anyway, but dying in Coldharbour was not something she'd wish on anyone.

"S'rana?"

Perhaps it'd be better to wait until Sithia was less groggy to explain properly… "My father banished you, so I tagged along. By the way, you can call me Rana if you want to."

Sithia took the hand Serana offered and sat up. She pulled her damn cowl up, but for once left the mask down. "Your dad's a rude bastard. And no thanks, I happen to like your full name. I can even manage to say it most of the time, _Serana."_

Serana had to admit, if only to herself, that she liked the way her name rolled off Sithia's tongue, especially in that lilting accent she sometimes slipped into when sufficiently emotional.

Sithia looked back at the castle, fading away into the mist. "Why are we running?"

"We're outnumbered, or didn't you notice? Even if it was just my father, we'd have no chance against him. He's a lot stronger than I am. Couldn't you feel it?"

"Yes, almost like being in the presence of a Daedric Prince." Yet Sithia still intentionally got on his bad side… Serana sighed. With such a dangerous lack of common sense, it was impressive that Sithia had survived to reach the prime of her life. She needed a keeper, someone to make sure her recklessness didn't get her killed.

"Exactly, that's Molag Bal's blessing." His reward for giving his Lord two Daughters of Coldharbour… "How would you—" Serana shook her head. "Never mind, tell me about your dealings with Daedra later. We don't have a lot of time, we've got to get out of here. Any idea where we can go?"

Sithia steepled her fingers and stared out over the water, eyes narrowed. "Riften. I need to return to the Dawnguard to warn them. About your father, his lackeys, where the castle is, about that prophecy…"

"They're the group of vampire hunters you're part of?"

"Whatever gave it away?" Sithia drawled.

"Guarding the dawn from vampires. How original. Yet all too accurate with this prophecy. I think we both agree that we need to stop my father."

"Yes, but what can we do besides keep your Scroll away from him? You said he's too powerful to defeat even without his minions in the equation."

"The Scroll will have something, I'm sure of it." Serana reached over her shoulder to touch it, her skin tingling with the otherworldly aura.

Sithia inhaled sharply. "Wait, you mean getting the Scroll read, don't you? Is that really such a good idea when it's just what your crazy dad needs to get his prophecy fulfilled?"

"I know it sounds as crazy as he is, but I don't think we have any choice. We need to stop him, and we can't keep running forever. We can't hide either, he'd find us eventually. He's got nothing but time."

Sithia dropped her head into her hands. "So to stop him we need to risk everything. Wonderful. What's life without a little risk?" She looked up, grinning, a mad light in her eyes. All things considered, it was just as well her Dragonborn's sanity was questionable. Anyone sane would have tried to kill her and take the Scroll long ago.

"Let's do this. But how? Neither of us can read it."

"I know who can." Serana had heard about it over and over at the dinner table after her father discovered the damn prophecy. "We need to find a Moth Priest."

"…Aren't they all in Cyrodiil, in the White-Gold Tower?"

"So I've read. We can get to Cyrodiil from Riften, can't we?"

"Yes, but it might be worth asking around just in case anyone has seen one in Skyrim. I can imagine they might travel to do research at the College of Winterhold. But that'll have to wait until I've warned the Dawnguard."

"Wouldn't Winterhold be on the way to Riften?"

Sithia got her map out and tapped the marker for a castle to the east of Riften. The line of blood ran around the coast to Solitude, then inland, winding its way to Whiterun, then skirting Windhelm Hold down to Riften. "No, it's not. Bad things happen when I ignore the route this enchantment shows."

"Looks like we're meant to row back to Solitude, then."

Sithia nodded, but pointed at the map. "Yes, but we're to go inland for a bit. Presumably to lay a false trail for our pursuers to follow." She studied the route for a few heartbeats, then tucked the map away.

"Makes sense. It'll give us a chance to do something to confuse our scents."

"Do you use those creepy dogs for that, or are vampires like werewolves?"

"Any vampire can smell things out better than death hounds can," Serana scoffed. "And don't ever compare me to a werewolf again. It's quite insulting."

"What do you have against werewolves?"

"They smell terrible, even when they look human. Imagine a dog who's lived all its life in a tannery, never washing, then double it." She wrinkled her nose and shuddered at the memory of the stench. "Every werewolf I've met has lacked control too. The only vampires who deserve to be compared to those creatures are feral."

"I see. Sorry, I had no idea."

"Now you know better." Their boat finally reached Icewater Jetty. "Let's go. I'm not about to carry the boat around, so I'll enchant it to row itself along the shore. We'll have to move fast to catch up with it before it wears off and it drifts away."

Serana shouldered Sithia's pack after tucking the Scroll away inside it. She wasn't about to leave either on the boat, not when there was a very real risk they wouldn't be able to get back on it.

Their route inland took them through the pine trees to the nearby castle. From the jetty it had looked ruined, but despite the crumbled tower facing them, Altmer in gleaming Elven armour patrolled the ramparts on the walls. As they drew closer, Sithia saw them too.

_"Thalmor,"_ Sithia snarled, voice almost unrecognisable. She pulled her mask up.

"Is that a new word for Altmer?"

"All Thalmor are Altmer, but not all Altmer are Thalmor. They are the Altmer who persecute Talos worshippers. They capture innocents and torture them until they confess, even if there's nothing to confess to." She'd lapsed into that lilting accent again, but it was choked with pure hatred. She presumably worshipped this Talos too, except that didn't make sense, not with her name. Unless she'd converted? But if she had, she surely wouldn't still swear by the Void and Sithis…

Serana was about to ask about that when Sithia spoke again. "You really want to know why I use a masked cowl? It's not just about the cold. I'm wanted by the Thalmor. Killed too many of them to be allowed to live."

"That's why you go by Cynthia, isn't it?"

"That and Sithia does draw the wrong sort of attention from most people."

"Why do you hate them so much?"

"I hate all torturers, and Thalmor torturers most of all."

That definitely sounded personal. Had Sithia lost someone she loved to Thalmor torture?

"How much time do we have?" Sithia sounded more like herself again, although her voice still trembled with rage. Was this the anger that always burned in her blood, brought to the surface by the sight of its cause?

"We should have a head start because I made sure to deprive them of the other boat, but we don't have time to kill these Thalmor. I'm sorry." Serana put a hand on Sithia's shoulder. Her rigid shoulder. She'd be so stiff if she couldn't do something to relax her Dragonborn. But what? Maybe…

"We could run through the enclosure. My father's servants might well kill these elves for us, especially if they're hungry." Serana chuckled. "Not that there's any 'if' about it. Vampires are always thirsty."

"Tempting, but they'll have prisoners in that keep. While death would be a merciful and welcome release for them, they don't deserve to be vampire food in the process."

"And we don't have time to put them out of their misery. I'm sorry."

"I've told you, you can't apologise for other people. The Thalmor are the ones who should be sorry, not that they ever are."

"You do realise that those vampires might kill them all anyway?"

"If they do, it's not on my conscience." Sithia added under her breath, "There's more than enough on that already."

"We've all done things we regret," Serana murmured, resisting the urge to ask what was weighing down Sithia's conscience.

They crept past the palisade, Sithia unable to resist stabbing the lone guard by the gates. Serana was equally unable to resist draining him dry before the stab wound could kill him.

"Mmm, now that I don't regret. Been a long time since I tasted Altmer, although still so bland compared to you."

Once they were out of sight of the Thalmor stronghold, Sithia paused, checking her map. "How are you going to confuse our pursuers?"

"You're not going to like it."

"…This involves bleeding, doesn't it?"

Serana attempted to look suitably sorry. It wasn't easy, not when she knew she'd soon be experiencing the sweet temptation of Sithia's spilled blood. "They won't be able to smell anything else for a while. Your blood is something else."

Sithia groaned and removed her right gauntlet. "Let's get this over with."

* * *

They caught up with the rowboat just as it started to drift away. Serana had to swim out to retrieve it, and sat in sullen silence until the cold wind dried her off. It brought a snowstorm within an hour, blanketing them both and the boat in snow. They had to shovel it out with their hands, as it wouldn't help them if it got too deep, or worse, melted.

"Beautiful weather, at least it'll make it harder for my father's lackeys."

"At least you don't feel it! I swear you complain about snow as much as you do about the sun."

"Actually I do feel it, so that little swim I had getting this boat? It wasn't pleasant. It just doesn't hurt me." Her annoyance faltered at the sight of Sithia, her eyes closed and hugging herself, shivering. "Are you all right?"

Sithia cracked her eyes open to briefly glance at her before they closed again. "For now, yes. There's a limit to what the enchantments on my armour can do. It resists the cold, it doesn't give me your immunity to it."

That was worrying. She'd have to keep a careful eye on her mortal. At least she'd have no problems staying awake to do so for the next few days, not after drinking that Altmer.

They reached Solitude's docks four days later, slowed by the storm. If not for the enchanted oars steering them clear of rocks, they'd have been delayed much longer, as they'd have had to walk and stop for rest on the way.

Hopefully now that she wasn't so cold, Sithia would be a bit more talkative, as she'd barely said a word since they got in the boat. Serana had been starting to wonder if she'd said or done something wrong, but judging by how often she'd had to wake Sithia from her nightmares – more than once every night – the Thalmor were likely the problem.

Then again, maybe she had said something wrong, as she'd tried to get Sithia to talk about those nightmares. She hadn't said anything since refusing to.

"I'm sorry."

Sithia paused on the road up to Solitude to frown back at her. "What for?"

"For whatever I did. Not leaving the subject of your nightmares well enough alone in this case."

"Serana, while I don't want to talk about it, I didn't mind your asking. It's…" She looked away awkwardly, clearing her throat. "It's good to know you care."

"Oh, good. I thought I must have done something to offend you, and that was the only thing I could think of."

"I'm sorry I made you think you had. It wasn't… I can't explain it, not now. It's not you. It's me."

"Now it sounds like you're breaking up with me." Serana sighed theatrically and laid a hand over her exposed chest. "My heart, how will I ever recover?"

"Oh, shut the fuck up." Sithia stormed ahead.

Serana grinned. That was more like it. Her grumpy Dragonborn was back. With any luck, the brooding one from their journey here wouldn't be back any time soon.

* * *

Serana had never been to Solitude. She'd only ever seen it in the distance from onboard the ship on the way to Winterhold. She'd marvelled at the size of the windmill, and the way the city extended over the great arch, nothing but sea below part of it.

Passing through the gates with Sithia, she caught a glimpse of the windmill over the rooftops, and of Castle Dour dominating the skyline, banners on the walls depicting a wolf's head against a crimson background. There had to be a story behind that. She'd have to ask Sithia, presuming she knew. Maybe that was something only a native of Skyrim would.

She almost walked into Sithia, who suddenly stopped, staring to the right. A large crowd had gathered, what looked like most of the people of Solitude. On the platform they were all watching, a helmetless, bearded guard had just nudged a prisoner into kneeling over a block. The executioner raised his axe and—

Serana blinked. Odd. Her fangs hadn't budged. Normally she'd have struggled to keep them sheathed with that much blood spilled. She stared at it, mystified. The dead man hadn't been afraid, so his blood smelled fine. Just not remotely appealing.

Then again… Her eyes were drawn to Sithia. With the finest blood so tantalisingly close, no wonder she wasn't interested in inferior sources. She'd only drunk that Thalmor because he was conveniently within reach.

"Justice!"

"Down with Ulfric, killer of kings!"

The shouts of the onlookers were a little too loud for Serana's sensitive hearing, this close to them.

Sithia remained staring at the condemned man's body after the last of the crowd witnessing the execution wandered away.

Serana nudged her. "You all right?"

"I'm fine." She didn't sound it, her voice almost as choked up as it had been around the Thalmor. Hopefully the brooding Sithia wasn't about to make an unwelcome return… If she did, at least it seemed possible to irritate her back into grumpiness.

"If you say so."

"Really, I am. That could've been me, that's all."

"What? You mean—"

"My warm welcome to Skyrim, not so long ago. A dragon interrupted when my head was on the block." Sithia turned and headed towards the first building inside the city walls, leaving Serana to look between her and the dead man.

It wasn't hard to believe that Sithia had done something to almost get herself executed. Probably something connected to those Thalmor. Whatever it was, that was one dragon she needed to thank, provided Sithia hadn't killed it back then.

Serana hurried after Sithia when she paused outside, waiting for her to catch up before she disappeared inside the Winking Skeever, as it called itself on the sign hanging outside it. Complete with a carved skeever. Charming. Presumably the inn.

The door opened to the warmth of the inn, and the resident bard singing her heart out about driving stormcloaks out with blood and steel. Whatever stormcloaks were. Something one of the crowd had shouted after the execution was repeated in song: down with this Ulfric King-Killer, and that they'd drink and sing on the day of his death.

Asking Sithia about that out here might draw unwelcome attention, as it sounded like the sort of thing everyone in Skyrim would know about.

Sithia returned from speaking to the innkeeper, clutching two keys. "Come on, he'll be bringing food to my room. Hot water for us too, whenever we want it."

* * *

"Do you know about this king killer they were singing about?"

Sithia swallowed the last of her stew and pushed the bowl aside, picking up her jug of milk and sipping from it. "Ulfric Stormcloak and his little rebellion. I have to sympathise with his reasons for it. The current civil war is because the Empire was forced to outlaw worship of Talos thanks to the Thalmor. He was a Nord, so Nords like Ulfric and his Stormcloaks really don't like that ban. Even the ones fighting for Empire probably only fight because it's His empire they're trying to save."

"Of course it would all come back to religion. What conflict doesn't? The Aedra and Daedra have a lot to answer for." This finally gave her an opening to ask something she'd been wondering about ever since she noticed the amulet Sithia wore. "Is that an Amulet of Mara?"

Sithia choked on her milk, and swiped a hand across her mouth, eyes wide. "Seriously? What is it with you Nords and ridiculously short courtships? We only met just over a week ago and… I didn't even know vampires could marry."

If she was capable of blushing, Serana's cheeks would have been crimson. "No! No, I'm not—I mean, you're great, really, but—" She cleared her throat. "I was asking because I haven't seen one since before I became a vampire. And vampires can't marry in the conventional way, even if we deserved to. I certainly couldn't ever ask for a blessing like that. My parents are only married because they already were as mortals."

Sithia relaxed and drank some more of her milk. "Makes sense. Can you even go inside a temple?"

"I can't imagine wanting to. It's uncomfortable to even see them, and shrines are just as bad. Amulets are only painful to the touch, they won't make me burst into flames or anything."

"I wasn't thinking of finding out, don't worry. And I'm not on the lookout for marriage, I actually wear it for the restoration boost." Sithia tapped her amulet. "Although if many more people I barely know express interest, I'm going to switch to my Amulet of Talos."

If this Talos had functioning amulets that would mean he really was a god… That Sithia had one might mean that she actually did worship him after all, so it would probably be best not to raise her doubts about his godhood.

"Why don't you wear it under your armour if you don't want proposals?"

"Don't you think I've tried? Turns out an Amulet of Mara is enchanted to be visible all the time. I've used an invisibility potion and it's still been there. I have to take it off if I don't want it to give me away."

Invisibility… Damn it. Like any ancient vampire, Serana could make herself invisible at will, provided she concentrated and nothing broke that concentration. It was something she preferred to do instead of resorting to her monstrous form, but as long as the Scroll's ethereal presence stuck to her, any mage would be able to feel her presence.

It might even make it easier for their pursuers to find them. Damn it. _Fuck it!_ She had to get rid of it. But how?

Sithia would have no idea or she'd have suggested something back when they were trying to hide the Scroll instead of taking it up to her father's castle.

Wait…

Sithia's amulet. Serana wouldn't be able to wear it herself, and it wasn't powerful enough to overshadow the Elder Scroll's aura anyway, but a shrine?

Well, it seemed that she would be eating her words tonight. Because Serana suddenly could imagine wanting to go inside a temple. Although 'want' wasn't quite right. No, it was 'need'.

Damn it. This was not going to be pleasant.

"Where are you going?"

Serana paused by the door. "Out." If she told Sithia exactly what she was about to do, she'd either talk her out of it or insist on going with her. This had to be done, though, and Sithia needed her rest.

"Oh, right, you need to feed. Happy hunting."

She would need to feed. Before and after this. Going inside a temple while at her most vulnerable to sunlight and fire would be a pretty bad idea.

Of course, all of this was a very bad idea. Insane, actually.

The innkeeper gave her directions to the temple, and mentioned that it was always open. Hopefully no one else would be there for a little late night worshipping when she went, as it'd be a little obvious that something wasn't right.

Serana found herself a patrolling guard to snack on. The other alternative, a sleeping beggar reeking of skooma, didn't smell remotely appealing. Not that the guard did when compared to Sithia, but then no one did. At least he'd only had a bit of mead a little too recently. He'd be in trouble for sleeping on the job if one of his comrades found him, as she'd left him slumped against a wall, unconscious from the blood loss.

She broke into Angeline's Aromatics, the alchemist's shop next door to the inn, to see about appropriating an invisibility potion. She might need one in the temple if anyone was around – there was no way she'd be able to concentrate enough to use her own power after touching a shrine. There was no such potion to be found, but a rummage through the shelves turned up some vampire dust and nirnroot, so she made her own. Hopefully she wouldn't need to use it, as it would taste horrible, containing the remains of her own kind.

Pocketing the potion, Serana made her way outside and up the zigzagging path to the castle. The temple was across the castle courtyard, walled in with its own smaller courtyard set up for a wedding. A high status wedding, judging by the thrones set up for bride and groom. Then again, if Skyrim was anything like it had been, most weddings took place at the temple of Mara, wherever that was now. This was the temple of all Divines, which presumably meant that Solitude was currently Skyrim's capital. Windhelm had been, back when she'd been mortal.

Serana forced herself to walk over to the double doors. She wanted nothing more than to turn back and get out of here. She reluctantly reached over to push the doors open. She snatched her hand back, hissing. The hallowed wood stung her skin. That was worse than sunlight.

She braced herself. It'd be even worse inside. She shouldered the door open. And promptly doubled over, biting back a cry of pain. She could barely see. It was almost like staring into the sun, the very air blinding bright. She couldn't hear anything other than her own sluggish heartbeat.

Serana fumbled for the potion. There might be a priest or priestess inside and she'd have no idea until she blundered into them. She took half of it. The silver lining to being in this horrible place was that all of her senses were deadened. She couldn't taste the potion at all. She held up her hand. From what little she could see, it had vanished from sight.

She stumbled further inside, arms outstretched. All but blind, she needed to feel her way to the shrines. She still bumped into the benches, wincing at the contact with wood radiating with Aedric worship. It got worse and worse with every step, although she could actually see the shrines now, shining white-hot. Throwing her arm across her closed eyes didn't help, it still seared through.

Serana forced herself to stagger over to the shrine that burned brightest. A dragon swallowing a sword. Akatosh, greatest of the Aedra. Face turned away, arm still attempting to shield her eyes, she blindly reached out.

Her world exploded in agony.

Awareness slowly returned. From where she lay on the polished stone floor, she couldn't see or hear anything. She felt only pain. Everything ached, and her hand… it _burned_. Her throat felt raw. Thirst – she needed to feed, to heal – but also as if she'd been screaming. She needed to get out of here before anyone investigated. Serana downed the last of the invisibility potion and crawled away.

Once outside, her senses slowly recovered. First hearing, then sight, and finally smell. She sniffed. Something was sickeningly sweet… burning flesh. She looked down at her hand.

"Ouch!"

Akatosh's head was seared onto her palm, the burn still smoking. Despite the blessing of the night in her ancient blood, it wasn't healing. She needed to feed. Problem being that she wasn't in any shape to hunt, even that beggar was beyond her at the moment. She'd never make it that far.

Serana struggled to her feet and limped back to the inn. She had just enough power left to make sure the guards ignored her, and to ensure anyone still awake in the inn wouldn't take any notice of her.

Persuading Sithia's door to unlock took too much out of her. She twisted the doorknob and fell inside. She lay gasping on the floorboards for a moment and crawled forwards, kicking the door shut. She pulled herself over to the bed and up onto shaky legs.

Sithia slept restlessly, whimpering and muttering. Another nightmare, although at least this one wasn't bad enough for her Thu'um to play up.

Serana had just enough presence of mind left to remember to retrieve Sithia's dagger and set it down out of her reach. She gently shook her Dragonborn awake.

Sithia reached for where her dagger had been, aborting the movement when her eyes focused on Serana.

"Serana?" She glanced at the window. "Still night… What's—"

"Can you feel it?"

Sithia rubbed at her eyes and yawned. "Feel what? Can't it wait until—"

"The Scroll, can you feel it on me?"

"Of course I can—Wait." She pushed herself up on her elbows. "I can't. How…"

"It worked. Good." Serana finally let herself collapse.

* * *

AN: So, who thinks Serana is a pretty stupid vampire?

Coming up next: a revealing and frustrating night in Whiterun.


	8. Chapter 6: Frustrated in Whiterun

**Chapter 6: Frustrated in Whiterun**

Blood trickling into her mouth brought Serana back to life. Undeath, even. Incomparably rich and powerful blood. Dragon blood. Sithia's blood, bringing with it the heat of that ever present anger, and the bittersweet tang of worry and a sharp tingle of frustration.

Serana cracked her eyes open. She was lying flat on her back on the bed. That was so sweet… Sithia cared enough to get her more comfortable.

Sithia sat beside her, perched on the edge of the bed, wrist held to Serana's mouth. Serana looked to the bedside table and saw the bloodied Ebony dagger set down. Sithia had cut herself to nurse her vampire back to health. Not many mortals would do that for a vampire, not without being enthralled.

Serana fought against the impulse to close her lips around the wound and actively feed. The warning ache in her veins at the thought made it easier, a reminder of her blood oath. Sithia hadn't given her permission, only allowing her blood to drip into Serana's mouth.

"Stupid vampire," Sithia muttered. She held Serana's hand, eyes fixed on her palm. "I don't need to ask what you did. To get burned like that… Been groping a shrine of Akatosh, have we?"

Sithia pulled her wrist away. Serana swallowed the last of the blood and watched sadly, craving more, as her mortal healed the self-inflicted cut.

The golden light faded away. Sithia turned back to frown down at her. "What I don't understand is why the fuck you'd do that after what you said about temples and shrines. Do you have a thing for pain?"

"No, I don't." Serana inspected her hand, marvelling at the unmarked skin. Sithia's blood was something else indeed. She'd been expecting to bear that scar for the rest of her days – potentially all eternity. "I had to touch the shrine to get rid of the Scroll's aura."

Sithia shook her head and raised her eyes to the ceiling. She sighed before returning her gaze to Serana. "Yeah, I gathered that much from what you said before you collapsed on top of me. I still don't understand why you had to do it."

"So mages don't feel me coming from a mile away. That could have got us both killed, especially with my father hunting us. You're welcome."

"Stupid vampire," Sithia breathed. "You do realise that it's only in close proximity that aura can be felt in? By the time any mages feel it they'd already have seen you."

Serana's fangs pricked her lips. Yes, she'd been stupid, but being looked down on like that by a mortal was maddening. Though a very special mortal, Sithia was still a merest fraction of her age.

"It was worth it," Serana snapped. "I didn't do it just for our safety, I did it for myself too. I can resort to that monstrous form like my father, but I prefer to just disappear if I can." Restored to health, it was easy to call upon the power in her blood and let the shadows hide her.

"That is a neat trick." Sithia reached out to touch what she could no longer see.

Well, that was forward of her Dragonborn. Unintentionally so, but that would only make this so much more fun… "You might want to move your hand."

"It's so weird to hear your voice when I can't see you. At least I can feel you. Why do I want to move it? This feels like leather, not your skin." She shifted her fingers, no doubt trying to figure out what part of Serana she was touching.

"Let me put it this way, if not for my cuirass you'd be groping me."

Sithia's eyes widened. She snatched her hand away as if it'd been burned. "Sorry!"

Serana laughed, enjoying the flush spreading across Sithia's cheeks. "I really don't mind." She contemplated removing her cuirass and guiding Sithia's hand back to explore properly, but that might be considered to be playing with her food. Besides, it'd be more fun for both of them if she were visible. Seducing her Dragonborn was really not something she should be doing when dividing her attention with maintaining invisibility.

She released her mental grip on the shadows and sat up. That brought her very close to Sithia. Close enough that she need only turn her head to kiss her. Before she could do more than brush their noses together Sithia jerked back, blushing harder than ever.

Her skittish Dragonborn fell off the bed, jumped to her feet and paused only long enough to grab her dagger. "I need my sleep even if you don't. See you in the morning." She fled, wrenching the door open. It banged shut behind her.

_'Damn it.'_ Serana flopped back on the bed and glared up at the ceiling. At this rate she wouldn't manage to seduce her way to a proper feed before they reached Riften. Then again, maybe she'd have better luck on the road.

She rolled over, reaching for the pack to dig out Sithia's map. Their route was still marked on it, so she traced that line with a finger, from Solitude all the way to Riften and beyond. To her disappointment, while she could smell Sithia's blood, it didn't come off on her finger. It was tempting to try to lick it off directly, but she wasn't that desperate. Not yet, anyway.

She wasn't sure how long it would take them to walk to Riften, but they'd be on the road for quite some time. If they walked as fast as they rowed, Whiterun was at least a week's journey away including rest stops, maybe even two in bad weather. Their route definitely went into the city and back out again. If she didn't manage to persuade Sithia to let her have a nibble before they got there, she'd be losing her touch.

One way or another, she'd at least be well on her way to seducing herself a willing meal by the time they reached the next Hold capital.

* * *

As it turned out, they didn't walk to Whiterun. Sithia hired a carriage instead. That made it pretty much impossible to get closer to her Dragonborn, especially as the carriage driver never seemed to stop singing or humming Ragnar the Red. Not even in his sleep whenever they stopped to camp overnight. It was getting increasingly tempting to rip his head off like Matilda had cut off Ragnar's.

The two inns they passed along the way didn't have any free rooms, so they had to stay outside under canvas. Well, Sithia and their driver did. Serana didn't sleep, gazing up at the moons and stars, and at the breathtaking sight of the aurora sometimes dancing overhead. She kept an ear out for any trouble too, but there weren't even any bandits blundering around, let alone her father's underlings. Only goats and the distant trumpeting of mammoths.

The second inn at least had good food, which meant that the farmer Serana fed from tasted better than he had any right to. Still not a patch of Sithia, of course, but his blood had a certain tingle to it. Daedric, actually, which would explain the inexplicably fertile land around Rorikstead. The contrast between it and the inhospitable tundra of Whiterun Hold was striking, especially at the steady trot of the horse pulling the carriage.

Mountains loomed ever larger on the horizon, the Throat of the World most of all. The highest peak in Tamriel. This was the closest Serana had ever been to it. She hadn't even been able to see it from the far north of Skyrim.

"One day I'd love to make the pilgrimage up the Seven Thousand Steps. To see High Hrothgar, maybe even get to meet the Greybeards… and the view out across Tamriel." She'd have to wait until night to enjoy that, as sunlight would leave her struggling to see at all.

Sithia grunted from her seat across from her in the back of the carriage. "The view is something, I'll give it that much. But climbing up all of those steps? It's not worth it. Especially not having to do it twice. High Hrothgar is nothing special either. As for the Greybeards… They would like me spend the rest of my days meditating with them. The Way of the Voice is not for me. Far too boring. At least they don't try to order me around, unlike someone else I can think of."

"Whoa there!" The carriage driver reined his horse in so he could safely turn to look, gaping at Sithia. "…You've been up there? Met the Greybeards? What, are you the Dragonborn or something?"

"There's an extra fifty gold in it for you if you don't say another word."

"You are, aren't you? Can you show me—"

Sithia lunged and slapped her hand across the driver's mouth. His cry of pain was muffled. "I Shout and it'll spook the horse. Now, you're going to drive on to Whiterun. You're also going to be quiet, or I'll forget about not scaring the poor horse and demonstrate a Shout on you."

She released the driver. He cringed away from her and shook the reins to send the horse trotting along the road again.

Serana sighed happily. "That's my grumpy Dragonborn," she murmured.

"What was that?"

"Nothing." Serana kept a straight face, only allowing a smile to tug at her lips when Sithia looked away to glower up at the Throat of the World. Tempting as it was to repeat herself so mortal ears could hear what she'd said, she suspected Sithia wouldn't appreciate the implication that she belonged to Serana. Certainly not where anyone else could overhear. Maybe she'd risk it in private…

* * *

Whiterun was visible from far off across the wide open plains of the tundra. Built sloping up a hill, with the Jarl's palace perched on top, the city was within sight for the last two days. They arrived at the stables at dusk and made their way up the winding road through the outer walls.

"It's been too quiet."

"No attacks, you mean?"

Sithia nodded. "It feels like the calm before a storm."

That was troubling Serana too. Unless her father had surrounded himself with incompetent sycophants, their pursuers couldn't be too far behind. "Our vampire friends will catch up eventually. We need to be most careful in the wild, it's why I didn't sleep at all on the way here. They won't attack settlements, not in force. They wouldn't want to frighten the herd too much."

They arrived at the main gates just in time to see them slam shut with the distinctive thud of the bar dropping behind them.

Two guards approached bearing flaming torches.

"Halt! City's closed for the night. Vampire attacks won't be happening on my watch."

Serana kept her distance. If she got too close, the guards might notice her glowing eyes and deathly pallor. She readied her illusion magic just in case she had to persuade them that she was not a threat.

"Not again…" Sithia groaned. She pulled down her mask and stormed up to the guard. "You know me. Open the gates."

"You might be an imposter, one of those damn mages using a spell to look like the Jarl's Thane."

Serana blinked and almost lost her grasp on her spell. Damn mages? Since when did Nords not respect magic? Back when she studied in Winterhold, mages were revered. Was this why the ferryman insisted on no magic in his boat?

"And my armour?"

"Stolen it. Or that's a spell too."

Sithia exchanged an exasperated glance with Serana. "Shall we skip straight to the part where you want to see a Shout?"

The guard nodded eagerly. "Well, go on. It's the only way we can be sure you're who you claim to be."

"Fuck you. FEIM!"

Sithia went decidedly ghostly, and proceeded to walk through both the guard and the gates.

The guard squealed and jumped into the arms of his stunned comrade. "She—She Shouted herself into a ghost! You can get her to Shout next time, I'm never doing that again. Never!"

The gates shuddered as the bar lifted and they were pushed open by a reassuringly solid and human Sithia, her mask pulled back up again.

Serana hurried past the guards while they were too distracted to take a closer look at her. It'd take her quite a while to gather her wits for mind tricks after a surprise like that. Destruction or conjuration she could do in her sleep. Not so with illusion.

She paused just inside the gates. Whiterun was the most open city she had ever seen, lots of space between the buildings winding up towards the Jarl's palace.

Sithia tapped her on the shoulder, leaning close to mutter, "What was that you said about vampire attacks on settlements drawing too much attention?"

"It'll still only be a couple of vampires at a time. They wouldn't risk attacking in numbers great enough to be a real threat." Serana stopped and stared at her Dragonborn. "Sithia…"

"What?"

"You're kind of paler than a human should be." Serana reached over to touch what little of her forehead was visible. "You're cold. Not as cold as me, but too cold for a live one."

"Don't worry, I'm fine. It's that Shout. I actually touch the Void when I use it, and the chill takes a while to wear off. Give me another minute and I'll be back to normal."

"What does it feel like? To touch the Void, I mean."

"About how you'd expect. Cold, and empty. I feel nothing while I'm Ethereal. I don't like it one bit, but it works well for freaking guards out. It also made it a lot quicker for me to get down from High Hrothgar the second time."

Sithia turned away and walked on, towards the second building on the right. A modest sized house. She stopped outside it and looked back. "Something wrong?"

Serana shook her head and closed the distance between them. "Oh, nothing much. Just you implying that you fell down the highest mountain in Tamriel."

"Jumped, actually. Nothing can hurt me while I'm Ethereal like that. Perfect for surviving long drops."

"You're unbelievable."

Sithia bowed, and gestured towards the house beside them. "Welcome to my humble home. Best perk of being a Thane. Go on inside and make yourself comfortable."

"I remember you mentioning the house to that blacksmith in Dawnstar. But wouldn't a real perk be a room up in that palace?"

"Dragonsreach? I had an invitation for that, but turned it down."

"Too grand?"

"That and I didn't fancy the Jarl enough to take him up on the offer of sharing his bed. Sorry, Princess, you're stuck with me and Breezehome."

"Don't call me that! And I'm fine with your home. It's charming, really. Cosy."

"Certainly a change from your castle back home. I'll be back in a few minutes after I buy a few supplies from the market. Bread, salted meat, dried fruit, carrots – I'm running low on all of them."

Serana watched Sithia walk away, then opened the door and stepped inside, turning to push the door shut behind her. She froze, hand on the door. She wasn't alone. She could hear the heartbeats of two mortals close by, and hear their breathing. The closer heart was smaller and beat faster. It was also fast approaching, bare feet slapping on the flagstones.

Serana spun to face the intruders in Sithia's home, hand on the hilt of her dagger.

A small girl tackled her, hugging her legs.

"Mama! You're home!"

By the blood, Sithia was a mother?

"Who are you?"

Serana looked up. The stern demand came from a young Nord woman, as dark haired as Serana herself. A woman clad in steel armour, a gold ring on her forefinger catching the firelight. A married woman in Sithia's home, not an intruder.

Sithia, married…

Serana clamped her mouth shut as her fangs made themselves known in a hot flash of furious jealousy – why hadn't Sithia told her? She'd never have flirted with a married woman. She was better than that.

The girl realised something was wrong and looked up. "Oh! Sorry! I thought…"

"Lucia, get behind me." The woman drew her sword. "Whoever you are, I warn you, I'll defend this home with my life."

The door opened again before Serana could do more than glare at her rival.

"Market's closed already, I'll have to—"

"Mama! You're home!" The girl – Lucia – released Serana and pounced on her mother. Except…

Sithia's heart skipped a beat and she fell back against the door as it swung shut, eyes wide with… Was that really terror? The mighty Dragonborn, scared of a little girl? Sithia recovered quickly as Lucia started giggling.

"The look on her face, did you see it, Mama?" She bounced over to her mother.

"Yes, I saw, now get behind me." The other woman looked to Sithia, sword pointing at Serana. "Do you—"

"Lydia!" Sithia tore her cowl off, face contorted in fury. "She's with me. And when I said this house was yours as much as mine, I did not mean for you to take in every little lost soul!"

Serana looked between them. What was going on here?

"I'm sorry, my Thane. She needed a parent and a home, though, and no one else seemed to even see her."

_'Oh.'_ The last of her jealousy drained away. _'A housecarl. Of course…'_

"Fine, but you're responsible for her! That includes her sick jokes."

"Sorry, my Thane." The housecarl and her adopted daughter chorused, and both hung their heads. The smiles on their faces rather detracted from the show of shame.

Sithia gave them a filthy look and stormed past, heading for a door almost hidden behind the stairs.

"Oh dear," Lydia murmured. "My Thane, there's something else I have—"

Sithia threw the door open and stopped in her tracks. "What have you done to my alchemy station, _you stupid Nord?!"_

Lydia cringed. "You never used it!"

"Why would I bother to have one set up if I wasn't ever going to use it? And… Where in the name of every Daedra are my ingredients? You didn't…" Sithia fell against doorframe and groaned.

"They were spoiled, I could tell by the stench. And they scared Lucia."

"Daedra hearts are meant to stink, you fucking idiot!" Sithia grabbed hold of two handfuls of her hair and let out a strangled scream.

Lydia clapped her hands over Lucia's ears. "Language, my Thane!"

"Void take you. Get out of my sight and take the girl with you. Come back tomorrow, I'll be on my way then."

"I… Yes, my Thane. I'm sorry. Come on, Lucia, let's go on a quest to see if Hulda has a room to spare. A night in the Bannered Mare, that'll be fun!"

Despite her mother's efforts to make their exile sound like an adventure, Lucia burst into tears. Sithia grimaced but didn't relent. She did at least get the girl's dolly from the former alchemy annex and tossed it to her, so she wasn't completely heartless.

Serana watched the door close after them, the girl's sniffling fading away. "Wasn't that a little harsh? You did tell Lydia it was her home too, after all."

"Don't start." Sithia stalked over to the hearth and tugged her gauntlets off to warm her hands over the fire. "I haven't thrown them out onto the street, and I'm the one ultimately paying for the brat to stay here anyway. Who do you think pays Lydia's allowance? She's the reason why I have to get all the loot I can carry wherever I go. That's why I try not to become thane of any more Holds, because I can barely afford one housecarl, let alone nine of the leeches. With any luck Skald will have forgotten about giving me one. If I'd had a choice, I wouldn't be a thane at all."

"How did you become one?"

"Pretty much the same as with Dawnstar. I made the mistake of killing my first dragon not far from here. Jarl Balgruuf wanted to reward me for saving his city, but I reckon he really wanted to brag about having the Dragonborn as his Thane. He certainly didn't mention the honour until after he heard from his damn bodyguard about my absorbing its soul. I suspect it's why he propositioned me too, so he could boast that he'd fucked the Dragonborn."

Serana didn't doubt that was the Jarl's ulterior motive there, but there was also the fact that Sithia was quite the conquest anyway, with her physical charms alone.

"At least I got a free house out of it even if I've probably paid more than its value for the dubious pleasure of having a housecarl sit around all day eating bread. And for her to adopt the local street urchin and rip out my alchemy station and throw out all of my ingredients including five Daedra hearts, because I always wanted a child's bedroom instead, apparently."

"I didn't know you were an alchemist. What other hidden talents do you have?"

"It's part of the talents you already know about, actually. I'm good at killing things and healing things. That's it."

Sithia fetched a bucket of water and used a pair of tongs to pick up some pebbles from the hearth, dropping them in the bucket until the water was steaming.

"Why are you afraid of children?"

"I hate children," Sithia said, dipping a finger into the water to test the temperature. She dropped one last heated stone in it. "Without exception. And they know! They swarm and they pounce, just like Lydia's girl did. And they all look the same! Children are evil, Daedra in disguise."

"Now you're just being ridiculous. You were a child once. So was I. A very, very long time ago."

"Not like them. There's a Redguard brat here in Whiterun. If you see her, you'll see what I mean. She's the worst of them. _Look at her hands."_

"What's wrong with her hands?"

"She's swapped them with something else. Someone else, and not a Redguard. I think she's some sort of experiment with necromancy, a child made out of several dead children. Like a patchwork doll."

Serana raised an eyebrow. Sithia's sanity – or lack thereof – worried her sometimes. "You'd sense the magical aura. You're a mage too, you must feel it when you're around a fellow mage or their handiwork. A bit like you could feel the Elder Scroll."

"I'm telling you there's something _wrong_ about her!"

"Sure there is. You're being paranoid."

"You'll see," Sithia said darkly. "Another thing about children in general is their fawning parents keep shoving them at me, demanding I bless them with a kiss to protect them from dragons. I'd sooner kiss a troll! Do me a favour and never have children."

"Vampires can't, not female ones anyway. We don't age. We don't change. Even if I was inclined that way, it's impossible for me to get pregnant."

"Inclined… You mean…"

"You know exactly what I mean," Serana purred, delighting in Sithia's shiver when she reached over caress her cheek and jaw, and the hitch in her breathing when she stroked her thumb across her lips.

It would be so very simple to seduce her. If she stole a kiss right now, that would probably do it. She leaned down and—

Sithia shoved her away. "Don't."

Not so simple after all, then. Damn it. "You want this, I know you do, I tasted it in your blood!"

"Yes, I do. But you don't want me, you want my blood." Sithia laid her fingers over Serana's lips, silencing the protest on the tip of her tongue. "Don't deny it. Don't you fucking dare. _I will not be used._ Not by you or anyone else."

Sithia grabbed the bucket and stalked upstairs, spilling some water as she went.

Serana followed her into her bedroom and laid a hand on her shoulder. Sithia tensed at the gentle touch.

"It's not just your blood. Let me prove it."

Sithia shrugged her hand off and put the bucket down on the table in the corner. She growled, brushing crumbs off the wood. "Fucking housecarl, why can't she eat her bread in her own room?"

"Sithia, please, listen to me." Serana reached for her again.

Sithia slapped her hand away, face set in a stony mask, eyes stormy with mingled hurt and fury. "You can prove it by taking your fucking time. I don't do casual. Make any moves before I'm convinced and I'll fus ro dah you into next week." Fortunately she wasn't actually Shouting, or she might have blasted Serana through the roof.

Sithia turned away, her back to Serana. She reached back over her shoulder, fingers closing around the ties threading together a join in her armour. She pulled the string, unlacing the leather and revealing a glimpse of the pale skin beneath.

"Do you want me to leave?"

Sithia paused, but resumed stripping off her armour, hands shaking slightly. "No. I think you should know exactly what it is you claim to want, if it's really not just my blood."

She let the upper half of her armour drop onto a chair, exposing her back… and the myriad silvery white scars crisscrossing her skin.

It was the branding that caught Serana's eye. A hand, fingers and thumb spread out, stretching between her shoulder blades. Clearly a symbol of something, but what?

"What does that signify?" Serana couldn't resist running a finger over the raised and darkened skin.

Sithia stiffened at her touch but didn't object verbally or worse, violently. "It's a… permanent reminder of my mother's questionable cult."

Serana looked again at the brand. Made by someone's right hand, larger than her own, although with long slim fingers like hers. Someone had pressed a hand against her back and used destruction magic to… She winced in sympathy at the excruciating pain it must have caused.

"Wouldn't a tattoo have been less painful?"

"Considerably. I wouldn't recommend brandings, not that I need to tell you that after your encounter with Akatosh's shrine. Although a tattoo is still painful." Sithia turned to face her, jaw set and a defiant light in her eyes, hands covering her breasts and pointing to the small tattoo between them in the process: a skull wearing a cowl and crown, covering its teeth with a skeletal hand.

Sithia spread her arms. "Like what you see?"

Those silvery white scars covered her skin, even cutting across her breasts. If they'd all been inflicted at the same time, she'd surely be dead from the blood loss.

Serana raised her eyes to meet Sithia's glare. "Yes, actually. Very much so. I think you're beautiful, scars and all."

Sithia blinked. Her lips parted, face slack with shock. She blinked again, and looked sidelong at Serana. "You're either lying, or you were dropped on your head as a child."

"I swear I'll never lie to you. By the blood of my ancestors." Serana drew her dagger and in the same smooth motion made it a blood oath. This time the wound healed as quickly as it had been made. "You're beautiful to me."

Sithia stared at her, speechless for several pounding heartbeats. "…You really were knocked silly as a child. Or was it being turned that did it?" Her voice was every bit as shaken as she looked.

"Will you believe me now that it's not just your blood?" Serana stepped forward and took her by her shoulders. Sithia's breath caught, her head tilting up to meet Serana's as she leant down.

Sithia's fingers came between them just before their lips touched. She stepped back, bumping into the table, the water sloshing about in the bucket. "I can believe that you lust after more than my blood. But as I said, I don't do casual." She lowered her hand from Serana's lips, and braced her hands against the table. "Kiss me before I invite you to, and you'll taste my Voice."

"I don't know, that sounds worth the risk." Serana took another step forward until she pressed against Sithia, pinning her against the table. Her laughter died in her throat at the flicker of fear in Sithia's eyes. "I'm sorry." She drew away, guilt a leaden weight in her heart. "I would never hurt you. I hope you can believe that."

"Not intentionally, no. Give me time, that's all I ask."

"You have it. I don't exactly lack time. I'll be downstairs, raiding your bookshelf." Serana left Sithia to make use of her bucket of warm water in private, and shut the door behind her. She slumped against it.

She'd wanted to stay, so very much. But she couldn't. Sithia naked was too tempting, and she'd end up coaxing her into bed.

She'd also end up begging Sithia to let her turn her. Because as a mortal, and a Thief at that, Sithia didn't have much time at all, especially not to an ancient vampire.

That and even if her self control had been up to the challenge, that flash of fear… Serana had a horrible feeling that she knew that fear all too well herself. She'd felt that recently, in Coldharbour. The thought that someone had done _that_ to Sithia, that some faceless bastard hadn't taken no for an answer—

Her fangs descended. She needed to take the edge off her rising bloodlust. She had to go, before she burst back inside, begging Sithia to let her feed. Damn it, she'd need to drain someone dry at this rate. Preferably whoever had touched Sithia like that, but chances were he was already dead, at Sithia's hand. If not, then she'd hunt him down and make him suffer before the end.

* * *

AN: Serana is one frustrated and angry vampire. I wouldn't want to meet her while she's in that mood, and I certainly wouldn't want to be her next meal. Sithia's dark past is rearing its ugly head. No prizes for guessing what Sithia's branding is, but it'll take some familiarity with Oblivion's Dark Brotherhood to recognise her tattoo.

Coming up next: Fort Dawnguard! Another dragon to slay! And we might meet someone Sithia hates if I manage to get that far and the chapter doesn't get out of control like this one did – it was supposed to end when they reached Fort Dawnguard.


End file.
